Steadfast
by sparksatmidnight
Summary: Eleanor, an aspiring potioneer, crosses paths with Severus Snape on the night of Lily's death. While he sees her as a mocking reminder of his greatest mistake, their mutual curiosity leads them down a path that tests the boundaries of their sanity and safety as the Wizarding world hurls itself into another dark time under the threat of Voldemort's rising power.
1. Those Eyes

1981~

Snape wept bitterly as Dumbledore stood at the window. Every inch of the wizard's weathered face creased with sorrow as his hand stroked his beard.

"You said…you would keep her safe," Snape clutched the doorway for support, breathless with grief.

"They put their faith in the wrong person," Dumbledore sighed, more collected in his mourning. "Rather like you, Severus. Were you not hoping Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Snape looked away, ashamed of the tear snaking down the side of his wet cheek. Lily, dearest Lily was dead. That lifeless body he had found in the messy house in Godric's Hollow was his beloved friend. Her unfocused eyes had burned a hole in his heart when he had found her. Even now the pain was still fresh, like a red-hot brand upon his chest. They should have protected her better; they should have done more to save her. Perhaps, he thought as he choked down a sob, he was bleeding to death from that hole and any moment now his suffering would end. It was then that his heart gave a defiant thump.

"Her son survives," Dumbledore offered gently.

Snape gathered his face in his hands breathing like a wounded animal. He didn't want to have anything to do with that child. He had seen him in his crib, a miniature Potter. The thought of a second Quidditch-obsessed, messy haired prig made his stomach clench tighter.

"He has her eyes," Dumbledore reminded him. "You remember her eyes, do you not?"

"DON'T," he bellowed at Dumbledore through his fingers. Every reminder reopened the wound he was sure would never heal.

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"You said... you said..." His voice broke as a sob stopped in his throat. He choked it down, trying to quiet his ragged breathing.

"Why is it you feel such guilt for one woman, yet nothing for countless others that have fallen to Voldemort and others like you? All of the people who were shamed and tortured? They did not die clean deaths by any means."

The words stung like salt in an open wound. "I wish... I wish I were dead..."

"Wish," Dumbledore hissed bitterly, "What use would your death be to anyone?"

Snape curled up into a tighter ball, his messy hair covering his eyes from Dumbledore's gaze, which resembled twin chips of ice behind his glasses. Severus didn't need a lesson; he didn't need to feel any lower than he already did. His best friend was dead. It didn't matter they had not spoken in a long time, the thought of Lily no longer _existing_ broke what little of his heart that was left.

"If you truly loved her," the words stung anew despite the delicate way Dumbledore uttered them, "then your way forward is clear. Prove her death was not in vain. Help me protect Lily Potter's son."

"He doesn't need protection," Snape spat, "the Dark Lord has gone!"

"He will return, and Harry Potter, _Lily's son_, will be in terrible danger when he does."

It was the only piece of her left now, he reasoned, the only way to be close to her again. _Even if it does look like Potter. _Snape gazed up at the elder man with a raw display of anguish and anger, and replied with much hesitation, "_No one_ must know."

"Then I shall never reveal the best of you, Severus." Dumbledore's shining eyes jumped from Snape to something moving in the room behind them. Down by the table with the lemon drops and gently turning gizmos stood a young woman with fiery red hair. Soft waves of familiar coppery red cascaded over her shoulders down to the top of her pleated skirt. She froze on the spot as Snape's eyes found her.

"Lily?" he whispered and took a step towards the creature, "Lily?"

Seizing the girl by her wrists he pulled himself to her, dark eyes searching for familiar green ones. His heart sank. Her eyes, while a lovely shape, were a most unsettling shade of gold. He released her, turning away with his shoulders shaking with shock and sorrow. Not a hint of green to be found.

"I'm…sorry, have I done something?" the girl asked, reaching for Severus. He jerked away as if she were on fire.

"Eleanor, forgive me for keeping you waiting. We've had a very serious matter to discuss" said Dumbledore, stepping down towards the bowl of lemon drops. Helping himself to one he continued, "Please excuse Severus, he's had a very rough night."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Eleanor said quietly, before adding, "May I help at all?"

Snape shook his head violently, willing the girl to vanish.

"Professor, I apologize for barging in. I was worried you had forgotten, or were out, and when I heard-"

"That's quite alright, Eleanor. We shall have to reschedule our lesson, I'm afraid."

"Of course."

Snape slowly turned around and looked at the girl again, wiping his face on the back of his hand as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A strange feeling washed over him as he studied the girl's long red hair, the dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and those startling gold eyes. Perhaps the world was laughing at him, sending a redheaded Ravenclaw into Dumbledore's office as they were in there discussing Lily. His eyes searched for familiar features. Her slender, girlish frame and those horrible eyes ruined his illusion. Her skin was not Lily's; it lacked Lily's warmth and shone in the dark office like marble. Lily was vibrant, and lovely, and full of life, not at all like this girl who looked like a plant left too long in the dark.

Snape watched her face melt into one of pity, making his stomach wretch fiercely. She seemed sorry to see a grown man in such a state of grief, making him feel all the more ashamed. She bade Dumbledore goodbye, and reluctantly closed the door behind herself, peeking at Snape one last time with those frightening eyes that seemed to glow in the dark stairwell like an animal's.

"Why was that girl here?" Snape snapped, eager to be rid of Dumbledore's lecturing.

"She is studying a rather unique subject," Dumbledore replied coolly.

"Which is?" He felt uncomfortable knowing that distorted phantom was walking the same halls as he.

"Something not easily taught."

Snape looked at him expectantly.

Dumbledore shook his head and caught the younger man around the shoulders, "Let us get you a stiff drink and settle you in."


	2. Breathe Fire

Snape hurried down the halls trying to remember the way to the Room of Requirement as he clutched a flask of a very strong healing potion Dumbledore had ordered him to bring. The urgency in the request, in addition to Snape's unfamiliarity of his new office and stores, greatly hindered a timely reply. _Why would Dumbledore need this brew from him_, Snape wondered, _when there was a perfectly capable nurse in the same castle?_

He turned around a corner and spotted Dumbledore down the corridor pacing furiously. When the old wizard spotted Severus he spoke in a hushed voice, "Quickly, Severus, quickly!" He ushered Snape into the Room of Requirement, which revealed itself to be a large empty room behind its thick doors. Scorch marks marred the floor in one spot, a deep black stain in the stone. At once upon entering the room Snape could hear someone coughing violently, with such force it made him cringe.

He spotted the redhead, that Bristow girl, sitting on the floor, hunched over a bucket, hacking and coughing forcefully. Dumbledore had lowered himself beside her, gently placing his arms around her shoulders.

"It's alright, Severus has something to help. Come," he urged her to turn and sit with her back against the wall.

She looked dreadful, Severus noted. Her face was tearstained and flushed scarlet to match her hair. She took in a raspy shaking breath and motioned for the bucket, which Dumbledore promptly handed to her. She coughed violently again, half-sobbing half-choking, and spat blood into the bucket. Snape was taken aback. He watched the girl cough once more and lean back against the wall weakly, gasping for air.

"The potion, Severus," Dumbledore held up his hand.

Snape handed him the flask quickly, "But you asked for a burn healing mixture. I don't see any burns on her."

"I did ask for one," said Dumbledore, who opened the flask and held it to the girl's lips.

"She isn't supposed to drink it! What was she trying to do, breathe fire?" Snape asked as Dumbledore helped the girl down the thick potion. Snape was not surprised to see her gag at the taste.

The elder man patted her shoulder as she closed her eyes, her cough quieting. "I am putting my trust in you, Severus. I don't wish for anyone to know of this, not even the staff. Understand?"

Snape nodded, unnerved by the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze. "Will you at least tell me what on earth happened?"

"Another time," said Dumbledore, helping the girl to her feet as she wiped the blood from her lips.

The three of them then left the Room of Requirement, and Snape caught a glimpse of a few smoldering embers on the floor just as the doors swung closed behind them. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and saw the girl looking up at him with her creepy gold eyes.

"Thank you…" she whispered before Dumbledore led her away.


	3. Nice Panties

_What a curious man that Snape is_, thought Eleanor. Her chest still ached as she got up for class. He was young, only a few years older than her, and despite his unkempt appearance, he had a handsome face. At least she thought so, despite his continually morose expression. The general consensus seemed to think he was too pale and creepy, and was already gaining a bad reputation for favoring Slytherin house. Someone had the gall to compare Snape to a greasy spider. The poor man appeared bewildered most of the time, a conflicted, intense expression on his face whenever he laid eyes on her. In the halls, he seemed to swivel away the instant she grew near as though he had suddenly remembered he was going the wrong direction. She was certain he was taking great care to avoid her as much as possible, for whatever reason. He couldn't avoid her all the time, she thought, as she had him for potions class. He _had_ to share the same room as her, if only for the length of a double NEWT level session. The thought of Snape made her recall when he had brought the potion to her outside the Room of Requirement, and wondered if he had kept his word about keeping what he saw to himself like Professor Dumbledore had asked.

Eleanor was glad for the pause in her private lessons with Dumbledore, especially after the last incident. She rolled out of bed and tiptoed to her trunk as her roommates started to wake. She began pulling off her silk nightgown and digging a fresh shirt from her trunk when her least favorite roommate, Romilda, stretched her arms over her head and shot her a nasty look.

"Do you ever eat?" she asked, eyeing Eleanor's slight frame. Romilda had become obsessively fixated on appearance since fifth year when she started dating Timothy Bolton. Since then, her fingers had been polished, her hair smoothed to perfection, and her lips painted every shade she could find. Eleanor had the unfortunate appearance of a late bloomer, already tall but willowy like a kid and lacking the curves and bust her classmates now flaunted. Romilda and Kathleen had already filled into womanly figures and their faces lacked the childish roundness in their jawlines. Even shy Daisy looked more grown up by now, but height was her issue. She remedied that by wearing heeled shoes as often as she could, allowing the top of her head to be even with Eleanor's chin.

Eleanor ignored her and pulled on her skirt, fumbling with the fastenings. Romilda had long since lost the ability to filter out rude questions. She had always been blunt, but the mean edge this year made it that much worse. Eleanor saw Daisy re-braiding her long blonde hair with nimble fingers, still sitting on her messy bed. She was the only roommate that Eleanor could tolerate nowadays, as she had yet to hit the obsessive, relationship-crazy phase Romilda and Kathleen had already fallen prey to. It was remarkable how easily they had forgotten about how well they had gotten along beforehand. Sometimes, Eleanor missed the days when they would sit around tossing Bertie Bott's beans at one another from their beds (daring each other to eat the ones that suspiciously resembled troll boogies or mud), chatting about their classes, and showing off the newest charms they had learned. It helped ease their minds from the tense world outside Hogwarts's walls. She missed having best friends.

"Oh Milly," sighed Kathleen as she tied a pink bow in her softly curled hair, "I hate not having Charms with you anymore."

"I _know_! I'm stuck partnering with Richard Davies. _Ugh!_ He still picks his nose as if no one sees."

"Is he still giving you the 'you've charmed me' line?" Kathleen asked mischievously as she inspected her nail polish.

Eleanor rolled her eyes as she grabbed her bag, preparing to go to breakfast. Before leaving, she made sure to lock her trunk. Whoever decided four Ravenclaw girls with varying opinions on privacy and tidiness could share such a small space was a berk in need of a good smack. Each of them knew far too many hexes than necessary. Small feuds escalated fast, especially when Romilda involved one of her many boyfriends.

Ella sat alone at the Ravenclaw table, nibbling bits of toast and taking swigs of juice while reading the morning paper. Owls darted overhead with morning mail, making her a little uncomfortable so she ducked her head closer to the newsprint as if it would hide her. She had gotten a small message from her father, only mentioning he had been working long shifts at St. Mungo's and missed her. The note was quickly stuffed into her bag. As she read the large article boasting new facts on Voldemort's defeat, still important enough to push the killings of twelve muggles by Sirius Black to the edge of the front page, the smell of smoke filled her nose. Glancing down, she noticed part of her newspaper had caught fire, and it was rapidly disappearing as it curled and turned black and gave off a sickly smoke. She dropped the paper, dousing it with her juice, and glared at the group of Slytherin boys laughing across from her.

"Grow up, Antony," she snapped at the tallest boy in the group, Romilda's current boyfriend. She could do better, Ella reasoned.

"See you in potions!" Antony chuckled as Ella left the hall, tossing a chunk of soggy eggs after her.

Eleanor had double potions that day, and eagerly sat in her chair waiting for their strange rookie teacher to arrive while her classmates tossed paper cranes that fluttered their tiny wings and sent sparks into the air. Professor Snape hadn't spoken much during the time he had been there, never straying from concise answers to class questions, but seemed knowledgeable enough to Eleanor. Any multitude of potions could be summoned up in an instant, and he rattled on about ingredients with far more detail than Professor Slughorn ever indulged in. He tolerated none of Antony's antics, which contented her greatly.

Romilda was stroking her long, shiny brown hair absentmindedly while Kathleen prattled on next to her. Eleanor pitied the copy of _Tails _she drummed her evenly filed nails on. As usual, Romilda was staring at Antony with the wistful longing of the love-obsessed teen. The tables could barely keep them apart. Eleanor sat back in her chair, trying to dissolve into her copy of _Advanced Potion Making - Volume Two_ when her chair suddenly lurched and flew out from under her. With a yelp she fell backwards quite awkwardly onto the cold dungeon floor while a tirade of laugher broke out in the room.

"Nice panties," chided Sean, one of Antony's mates who always appeared redfaced. Combined with his pudgy stature and short, spiked hair, he looked as though he were about to burst as he laughed along with the other Slytherins. Sean also had a horrible fondness for stinging jinxes, which sent four first years to the hospital wing in the past week for ridiculous swelling after one of them stepped on his foot in the hall between classes.

She seriously doubted his grandmother wore polka dotted knickers, as he claimed to the rest of the class.

Eleanor quickly fixed her skirt while her chair floated above her head. As soon as she looked up at it, it came crashing down on top of her and took several things off the edge of her work table along with it, sending the rest of the class into another fit of laugher. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Eleanor sent a nasty hex in The Slytherins' direction before climbing back into her seat quietly fuming, not even bothering to see if her spell had hit any one of them.

Snape appeared in the classroom and the students fell silent, having learned by now that he was not the sort to tolerate much at all. His black eyes darted around the room as he gave them their assignments for the day curtly. "Today you will brew Chelidonium Miniscula, page sixty four, and its antidote using Golpalott's Third Law. Due end of class."

The room erupted into a rustling of sliding chairs, pages turning, and cauldrons being lit. Eleanor tried to situate herself as far away from Romilda and Antony's group as possible, in the darkest corner by her seat. There she began brewing with ease, potions was her favorite subject after all. It seemed so strange to have a teacher practically her own age. She guessed his harshness was an act to keep control over kids like Antony. Or perhaps he was still upset from whatever had happened in October.

_Whatever it was. _

* * *

><p>Snape wandered around the room, observing that most of the students could mix the potions without many mishaps. A welcome respite from the younger groups. He paused when he came to Eleanor's corner, seeing her transfigure her quill into a small silver knife with relative ease. Her cheek bore a long, shallow cut beaded heavily with blood that seemed to go unnoticed as she worked. Her eyes were fixed on her cauldron as she chopped and stirred with an intensity the rest of her classmates seemed to lack, waiting for the bubbling liquid to change from a grassy green to a rich violet before hastily lowering the temperature and taking up the glass beaker resting beside it.<p>

"Miss Bristow," Snape said quietly.

She looked up to him mid-pour, "Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Your face." He pointed to his own cheek.

She slowly raised a hand to her own and felt the blood running down, which she quickly wiped away with the sleeve of her robes, looking very embarrassed as she stammered out something he couldn't fully make out. Snape studied the girl for a moment before passing on. It wasn't long before one of the few Hufflepuffs in the class got distracted and let their mixture catch on fire. But instead of the panicked chaos of the younger classes, the fire was doused and the mess was cleaned without much fuss excepting a handful of Slytherins, two Ravenclaw girls, and a Hufflepuff who giggled into the backs of their hands and half-heartedly concealed their whispering. They seemed awfully sure of their own cauldrons, despite two refusing to change from a mossy, lumpy green.

The rest of the period seemed to drag on painfully long.

Eleanor, looking very pleased with her two potions and handed in her work at the end of class at the end of the line. Each vial was carefully filled, labeled, and sealed, and free of the grime he had witnessed on the ones from Briggs and Kersey, which he tried his best not to touch in any way. Everyone else seemed glad to slip out of the cold dungeon as soon as they could, but Eleanor appeared to linger on purpose, walking very slowly with her eyes tracing every inch of his direction. Snape watched the girl slowly make her way to the staircase and disappear. _Strange girl, that one_, he thought to himself as he accidentally grabbed one of the grimy vials and cringed.


	4. Firewhiskey and Futures

"What are you going to do once you graduate?" asked Daisy while she brushed out her hair.

"I don't know," replied Eleanor as she dried her own, fingers raking through tangles ferociously.

The two girls sat on their beds, feet dangling. Outside, rain gently tapped on the windows of their tower room. Romilda and Kathleen were out, still cleaning up in the girls' bathroom leaving their two roommates in peace. It was remarkable how quiet it was when they were absent.

"I want to do something safe. Maybe an office job at the Ministry."

"_That's_ safe?" questioned Eleanor.

"Safe enough. Mum and Dad want me to be an Auror like them, but… I don't know. I didn't do so well with Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts last year. I barely managed that E on my potions O.W.L."

"Kind of important," said Eleanor as she pulled on her nightgown.

"I guess. But what about you? You really have no clue?" Daisy began to braid her hair for the night, her bright blue eyes fixed upon Eleanor. "What did you do about your career counseling so far?"

"Dad's taught me some healing stuff, but I couldn't do that every day," she confessed. "I kinda used that for Flitwick fifth year, but he's figured out by now I'm lost. Especially since I turned down pre-med classes."

"You're so good at Quidditch, maybe you should try that?"

"Dad doesn't like the idea. But honestly, it's probably my backup." Eleanor climbed under her dark blue bedspread and settled in.

Daisy's eyes lit up, "But that's a great idea!"

"Well, I still like Astronomy, and Potions. Maybe something will come along," said Eleanor.

"What about Herbology? You like that too, right?" Daisy asked.

"Ugh, too messy for a job. I love gardening, and I love learning about plants, but I do _not_ love the thought of composting my own dragon or manticore manure," she made a face at the thought. "Good night, Daisy."

"Good night, Elly."

Eleanor waved her wand and closed the thick blue velvet curtains around her bed just as Romilda and Kathleen's shrill voices came into the room. She looked up and watched the tiny stars that floated on the ceiling as the other girls climbed into bed.

"I'm so sick of that squib interrupting us every damn time," hissed Romilda.

"Oh, Milly, maybe you should've picked a better place than outside the library," said Kathleen.

"Did you hear what he said to me?" Romilda sounded furious. "He said I shouldn't be in Ravenclaw at all! He called me stupid! And in front of _Antony!_"

"What does he know?"

Eleanor grinned to herself, perhaps Mr. Filch was right. It's not as though Romilda did very well with grades in Ravenclaw standards since she took an interest in boys. She seemed more interested in her hair, makeup, and how short she could roll up her skirt without getting caught.

"Ugh, I need a drink," whined Romilda.

"Is that firewhiskey? How did you get that?" asked Kathleen.

"I bought it, that's how. Do you want some or not?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes and turned over in bed, listening to them giggle. She reminded herself to slip something questionable was in Romilda's trunk tomorrow after Charms. Her eyes followed the little constellations overhead until she finally nodded off, dreaming Romilda was struck by lightning in the stands at their next Quidditch match, zapped back to normal.


	5. Quidditch

As predicted, the day of the next Quidditch match boasted heavy downpours and the occasional thunderclap. Ravenclaws and Slytherins glared at each other as they ate their morning toast, while Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs tended to migrate to the blue and bronze side of the Great Hall. The ceiling above them mirrored the rainy weather outside. Eleanor always liked rainy days, and she loved to see the enchanted ceiling covered in blue-gray clouds and delicate little raindrops that disappeared before they reached the tables and students below. The only time she loved that ceiling more was when it reflected the night sky, emblazoned with thousands of stars and the Milky Way's glow while the moon gently floated overhead.

A piece of toast slapped her in the face. She frowned, wiping the jam from her cheek, and glared at Romilda who slid into the benches next to her, Kathleen and posse in tow. The stench of their perfume and hair products was nauseating.

"What," Eleanor snapped.

"Good luck today, Elly." Romilda helped herself to a heaping pile of potato cakes, several pieces of sausage, and eggs. She seemed tense, gripping the serving spoon far too tightly.

"Don't call me that." Eleanor nibbled a piece of bacon, trying to disappear into the bench. Romilda ignored her and began to cut her food into perfect, even pieces as Kathleen surveyed the rest of the morning spread from over her shoulder. Finally, her eyes alighted upon something across from Eleanor.

"Are those good?" asked Kathleen, reaching across the table for a pastry on a golden plate. Her hair brushed against the marmalade spread on Romilda's toast.

"Of course they are," Romilda snapped, stabbing into her meal with her fork. The scraping alerted a few Gryffindors crowding around a copy of _Witch Weekly_.

"She's right," said a brunette in Hufflepuff robes sitting shoulder to shoulder with Kathleen. She smacked her lips loudly after sipping her pumpkin juice, leaving a bright red lipstick stain on the rim of her goblet. "The cherry ones are the best. But Roger's favorite are the blackberry ones. I found that out from Alice the other day when she caught him flirting with that sixth year. You know the one. Lately she's been charming her hair blue because it's his favorite colour. Can you believe it?"

"Hope nothing goes wrong today. Nasty weather," said Romilda, feigning concern as her friends chatted more about the girl with the charmed hair. A wave of cheers rang out from the Slytherin table as more students took their seats with serpent adorned hats and green pennants. One brief remark from a pair of dark haired Gryffindor boys ushered the Slytherins into half singing, half shouting their newest cheer. Romilda waved and giggled at Antony as he sat down at the Slytherin table in his Quidditch uniform - guards on early so he looked far bulkier than he was. "Merlin, is he ever cute in that uniform!"

Eleanor made a face and took a large gulp of tea. She hoped if anyone got struck by lightning, or hit by a bludger, it was either Antony or the toast-throwing flirt next to her.

"That uniform looks hideous on you. Not really made for girls is it?" Romilda gave her a look over with a dissatisfied frown. "And your hair, it doesn't really go."

"Well I can't do much about that now can I?" said Eleanor, crushing her toast. It was the same rubbish as the last game. Deep down, Eleanor knew Romilda was still put out after missing her chance to join the team several years running. But, in all honesty, she couldn't take a hit, much less lock broomhandles with another chaser or practice standing up on the crossbar and feinting.

"Actually, there's that colour changing charm. Eliza seems to get by just fine with it. Kathleen tried out the other day, you remember. Works wonderfully if you don't get wet. Oh wait…"

Eleanor stood, sick of listening to Romilda run her mouth. She jumped from peeved off to flirtaciously cheerful with one toss of her dark curls, and it was too much effort to keep up with. Ella needed to concentrate.

"Bye bye, Elly dear!"

It took everything in her not to send that juice of Romilda's straight up her nose. Eleanor wondered if it was possible to die of an orange rind lodging itself in the brain. _Probably_. More likely than suffocating on eggs.

She greeted her teammates, who sat clustered at the end of the Ravenclaw table. The team included all boys, of course, except for fifth year Lilian who, in fact, did not resemble a girl at all in the bulk of her uniform, and Eleanor herself. Lillian was, undoubtably, a magnificent beater. She looked ready to slam John Piper into his porridge after a swipe at her hairdo. Lillian was sweet, though, and a very thoughtful person - just not all the time. She had a gift for Transfiguration, and for giving boys a bloody nose in one hit.

Eleanor noticed Thomas Peregrine staring at her with a sheepish grin as Piper started a round of Ravenclaw cheering, and soon the team was pounding on the table with their fists and the whole side of the Great Hall echoed them. They were all in high spirits, despite the weather, and after Travers finished his bacon they headed out to the pitch. Eleanor didn't know how to react when Thomas brushed up against her as they hopped down the bumpy path, or when he peeked at her from around her broomstick with a surprised smile and glasses slightly askew. Her heart announced itself loudly in her chest, but she shrugged it off as they gazed up at the pitch growing closer before them, already filling up with hundreds of blue and green banners.

Fans and players scattered to get under the coverings of the Quidditch pitch as the rain continued to pour relentlessly. The Ravenclaws were scrambling to their meeting place before they were too soaked when Eleanor bumped into someone in a drenched black cloak. Looking up, she recognized her Potions professor staring down at her warily, a half-hearted sneer trying to curl on his lips that just wouldn't stick, and quickly it faded into a simple, tired frown.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, sinking the end of her broomstick in a bit of mud by accident.

He shook his head, sending little droplets of water flying from his soaked black hair. He looked as though he wanted to say something but didn't find the courage, creating an awkward silence as the rain-drenched fans raced around them. Something rattled wildly in her ribcage and she took in a nervous gulp of air. He was watching her so closely, looking for something perhaps, and she began to worry if she was about to receive a detention for splattering a bit of mud on the hem of his cloak. His jaw clenched and his gaze went to the murky puddle near his boots.

"I…I should probably be going," she said, turning away.

"Good luck... out there," he said quietly, taking her off guard. His eyes darted once to the pitch before swiveling back to her.

"Aren't you head of Slytherin house?"

He nodded stiffly, his black eyes still fixed on her.

"Well, thank you, sir. Don't be too sore if we win," she grinned.

He stood there watching her run off to join her team, eyes on her damp red hair. He could see Lily running, imagined her turning and calling for him like she had when her group - mostly foolish, air-headed yet pretty girls who giggled excessively - would gather for the game all clad in crimson to cheer for Potter. He shook his head and cursed under his breath.

Dumbledore was very firm in his request to attend Quidditch matches. He wanted Severus to "better integrate with the students and support his house". A bunch of sodding rubbish. All he was doing was getting covered in mud while his hair stuck to his face and a bunch of teenagers zoomed about trying to kill each other. Hardly "enriching" at all. But he had no place to argue.

Severus sourly slid onto the damp bleacher beside the Arithmancy professor and the wall of the viewing box. He recalled attending matches back in school where he would watch Regulus Black - as close a friend he had in Slytherin - chase after the bloody tiny golden Snitch. He had felt a flicker of jealousy back then for him. Snape was a fair flier, but he was by no means as steady or foolhardy on a broom as the students walking out to the pitch.

"Pardon me. If I might?"

Snape looked over to find Dumbledore inserting himself between Severus and Professor Vector. Hastily moving aside to avoid being sat upon, Severus squeezed against the wall in time to hear the whistle sound above the noisy crowd and a clap of thunder. Dumbledore flashed him a smile before jovially clapping for the toss.

"And who do you wager on winning, Severus, my boy?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, thinking how absurd the question posed was. Dumbledore seemed to take this as his answer, "Ah, a loyal Head of House. Always good to see. Except, perhaps, when you wager an afternoon of free brandy or your entire month of earnings."

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eye unnerved him and Severus quickly glanced away, barely watching the streaks of blue and green flashing about in the rain. McGonagall suddenly shouted at the top of her lungs, startling half of the teachers' box. She leapt to her feet, hands flared around her mouth, and shouted "Foul!" once more. In a desperate attempt to avoid conversation with the old man, Severus ducked deeper in his seat and yanked his collar high, trying his best to ignore the Headmaster knocking his knee with his bonier one.

Up above, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws dove and climbed dramatically on their broomsticks in the downpour. Bludgers were nearly impossible to see, whizzing dangerously close to players' heads. The keepers kept wiping their goggles whenever the quaffle was on the other side of the pitch as their water-repelling charms failed to keep up. Antony and his teammates were playing dirty, as usual, elbowing chasers when they got too close, blocking the Ravenclaw seeker whenever he spotted something in a flurry of shoulder guards and elbows. Madam Hooch had a hard time making foul calls due to the chaos of the storm despite the rain-repelling charm on her goggles. Someone in the teachers' box spotted each one, and shouted "_Foul!_" each time, but Madam Hooch didn't seem to hear. Eleanor wove between the Slytherin players, with the quaffle tucked snugly under her arm, squinting to make out the goal posts in the rain as she sped down the pitch.

Ducking quickly, she dodged a bludger that Lilian promptly smacked back towards the heads of the Slytherin chasers. Ella's boots slipped into a better position, gripping the crossbar on the balls of her feet as she shifted her weight. With all her might, Eleanor hurled the quaffle into the far left goal post, which sailed past the keeper's fingers with ease. A chime rang out as the score was updated and the Ravenclaws, along with the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in the crowd, let out a roar. Bronze birds and blue sparks flew from the stands.

_Tied at last_, thought Eleanor,_ if only Thomas could find the Snitch_. She was quite ready to be out of the rain and into some dry clothes. Her cheeks stung in the cold, and she shifted on her broomstick, uncomfortable in her damp uniform. Nothing, she thought, was worse than wet underwear. She looked up as James Ryer, a Slytherin chaser with a proclivity for blatching, knocked the quaffle violently out of Noah Travers's arms. It went sailing through the air towards the teacher's box. At full speed, she urged her broomstick towards the red leather ball at the same time as Antony. She could see him out of the corner of her eye with a wicked grin beneath his soaked, dark blonde hair.

_Focus_, she told herself and began to block out everything else: the roar of the crowd, the rain, the bludger flying erratically nearby. Her vision narrowed to the red ball and nothing else as she kicked her broom into a breakneck dive.

Snape watched the game silently next to Dumbledore, his lack of enthusiasm doing nothing to dent the blatant favoritism being shouted beside him. He slouched, thinking how strange it was to be in the teacher's box at a school game, or rather, to be at a school game at all. A very significant change from the past few months. He usually only attended in the hopes of seeing any house crush Gryffindor and wipe the smirk off James Potter's smug face back when he was in school. That, and when a fellow Slytherin had cursed a broomstick, or when Lily begged for company before she began to gravitate towards the gaggle of girls from her own House, or when Regulus begged for him to come watch him steal the show as the new seeker. The thought was bittersweet.

"How's the view," asked Dumbledore, leaning over with a grin.

"Wet," replied Snape flatly. Despite the rain repelling charm above them, the seats were still damp and nearly everyone had gotten drenched on the way over, though no one seemed to notice. The squishing of wet socks nearly eclipsed the noise of the game.

Suddenly overhead, two chasers dove for the quaffle dangerously close. Eleanor - he knew it was her by the shock of red hair tied up in a plait that flew behind her - somersaulted and scooped up the ball before swerving away, narrowly avoiding the wooden supports. Flint - one of his students - took off after her. The backwind from their broomsticks sent McGonagall's bonnet and Sinistra's hat flying. Dumbledore handed them over with a wide grin after Professor Vector fished them out of her seat. McGonagall didn't miss a beat and was back to shouting in an instant. The only people flustered by the event were Severus, Professor Kettleburn (who was clutching his wide chest in alarm), and the flimsy-looking Ghoul Studies professor whose name continually slipped from Snape's mind.

As Eleanor flew towards the Slytherin goal posts, Antony slammed into her side. Eleanor was furious when Madam Hooch didn't blow her whistle and call him for cobbing, though it sounded like she was too busy barking at a beater behind them. Trying to avoid him, she ducked past a bludger and kept going, quickly trying to decide if she should reverse pass to Travers. He came again, this time kicking her in the side as hard as he could, sending her spiraling off her broom. There was a collective gasp and uproar in the Ravenclaw stands as Antony snatched the quaffle. Luckily, their keeper, Edward, punched it back to another waiting chaser as Eleanor fell to the ground.

The shock of hitting the wet ground took her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her. She was drenched in mud, but relatively unhurt as she gasped for air. Luckily, she had not been very high in the air. She grabbed her Nimbus 1500 and jumped back into the air in time to hear Ravenclaw score again.

As the game dragged on, Ravenclaw pulled ahead as the Snitch remained lost in the clouds and rain. Antony was visibly upset, managing to give Piper a black eye and a bloody nose after he knocked the quaffle away from Antony's grip and scored. At last, Thomas dove away with the Slytherin seeker right on his tail.

_Finally_, Eleanor thought as she sped alongside John and Noah towards the goal posts. Just as they scored, the announcer cried out, "And Peregrine has caught the Snitch! Ravenclaw wins the match!"

Applause and cheers rang out in the crowd as Slytherins booed the rest of their school. Thunder rumbled overhead as Eleanor ripped off her leaky goggles and cheered, ignoring the mud on her face and the growing pain in her elbow from her fall. Thomas, grinning from ear to ear, held the Snitch over his head as he flew by the Ravenclaw viewing tower. An eruption of applause and another burst of blue and bronze flew from the crowd.

Snape filed out behind the rest of the staff, somehow content with the outcome of the game.


	6. 3?

Snape sat in his office, face buried in his hands with a stack of ungraded assignments on his desk. He was too distracted this evening. He couldn't think of a lesson easy enough for the first years. The last one was a disaster, leaving one boy with singed eyebrows and bangs, and three girls with burns. It didn't occur to him the potion had been difficult. Perhaps they were all dunderheads and it wasn't his fault at all.

He slumped in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. On nights like this, back in school, he would wander through the library until he cleared his head. Lily used to come, until their argument, he thought bitterly. Ever since, the library seemed a little less...enjoyable. He remembered times when he was out in the night, wand in his shaking hands, wishing he were back in that library with a book in his hands instead of a body. The Dark Arts were always safer in books, their allure more potent when he was not the target, when he didn't have to look someone in the eye and...

Standing and stretching, Snape decided to venture out of his office, shaking loose any residual thoughts with a strong resolve to seek distraction from the old nook he used to inhabit in the library. It was late, hardly anyone would be there, and it was better than staring at bare walls for another hour. He felt tired, especially as he climbed the stairs barely lifting each leg as though they were weighted down with bricks of lead. Severus hadn't slept well in years. Since Lily passed, he dreamt frequently of her, and would wake in a cold sweat in the night with those piercing green eyes burning before him. Afterwards, it was too difficult to fall back to sleep, so he would lie there in the dark and stare at the ceiling in the throes of guilt until the sun roused him to rise and dress.

Madam Pince was creating a stack of books several feet high while her helpers looked on with horror. "Put them away, _properly_," she said, pinching her violet lips together as though she had bitten something sour. "Ah, Professor. Is there something I can help you with?"

"No," said Snape, unused to Madam Pince offering help in such a kind tone of voice.

He slipped away from her and the poor students buried under her book piles as quickly as he could. He found himself perusing the charms sections, finding books he had already pulled and studied years prior. A handful of Gryffindors looked up at him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could almost see the faces of the Marauders staring back at him. Quickly, he marched on until he was quite buried in the maze of dusty, overcrowded shelves. The farther he went, the fewer students he found. At last the herbology, magizoology, and potions sections were left and seemingly vacant.

Snape slowed his pace, taking time to glance at the spines. He could recognize several volumes he had used in his last potions essays by the colors of their binding and the style of letters stamped into them. It was strange to him to return to something so familiar after drifting into Death Eater ranks. He hadn't regretted that decision more than he had when he went to Godric's Hollow last. Now, Dumbledore's plan…

He shook his head and pulled a book from the shelf, flipping through carelessly. In the middle of an intriguing paragraph on duplicating potion, he heard a loud sigh coming from behind the next row of books. Cautiously, he peered around to see who was there.

Red hair. His heart leapt anxiously, and he smacked his chest to still it. As Snape rounded the corner, he saw a small collection of books floating in a gentle circle around the girl. She sat hunched over, her nose practically touching the pages as she read, ignoring the way her robes were sliding off the back of her chair and her fingers tapped restlessly over the worn, red cover of _Practical Transfiguration_. She sighed again, sounding frustrated, and lifted the book into the air where it joined the others in her literary sphere. Her uniform broke the illusion, Ravenclaw bronze and blue complimenting the coppery waves that ran over them.

As she let another Transfiguration text float up above her head, Miss Bristow glanced at the floor for a moment, almost as if she sensed someone was there, before slowly turning and facing Snape, eyes meeting his round with surprise. _Gold_, he thought in disappointment, his daydream completely quashed.

The books all fell to the ground at once. Snape noticed her wand was not drawn.

"Good evening, Professor," said Eleanor as she bent to pick up her fallen volumes.

"I didn't know throwing books was allowed in the library," said Snape flatly.

"You startled me."

"That bent page might cost you your head." He could remember the sting of the paddle Madam Pince used on "hooligans and book defacers". Snape glanced at her selections: advanced potion making books, unusual magical creatures, volumes on rare plants and animagi. Quite the variety, and a welcome change from the slew of Charms books that frequented the hands of practically every girl in his classes.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked.

All these people offering help, it was so strange. "No," he said harshly, regretting the way it came out after the word left his lips. He could tell it bothered her; but why should he care?

"I see you have the Veridian volume as well," he said a little more gently.

She looked down at the small book on the top of her stack. It was the same little green leather book as the one Snape held.

"Yes," she said, "I don't even know why I pulled it. I've practically memorized it."

Snape was silent, watching her very closely as she turned the book in her hands.

"I'm sorry, if you'd like this space, I can move," Eleanor offered.

"No," Snape replied, "…thank you."

Eleanor nodded and another long pause prevailed. "I better start putting these away," she said, at last breaking the silence. "Bit close to curfew and all."

She grabbed the pile of books, awkwardly balancing them in her pale arms, and excused herself. After she had gone, Snape glanced at her workspace, where she had left a couple books open. There was a small notebook filled with sparse notes in small, perfect writing next to a sketch of a vicious looking dragon, a Hungarian Horntail as it was labeled. Below it, she had copied "animagi can only take on the form of one animal" and "wizards do not choose their animal". Below her writing was "3?" underlined twice.

Snape heard the girl returning and started to walk away.

"Good night, Professor," she called from behind him.

He nodded and fled with the little green book in hand.


	7. A Lie

"Where have _you_ been?" asked Romilda coyly, glancing up over a copy of _Witch Weekly_. Her long brown hair was coiled up in curlers and her face was smeared with a thick white cream.

"None of your business," snapped Eleanor.

"You've been at the library again, haven't you?" laughed Romilda, "You've been going there every night for weeks! What're you up to?"

"Nothing," Eleanor hissed, throwing a new set of books into her bag.

"Have you been meeting someone? There's no way you could have _that_ many papers."

"No, Romilda. Now shut it." Eleanor grabbed her star charts and telescope, slipping them into her little schoolbag.

"Oh come on…Hey, how'd you do that?"

"I pay attention in Charms."

Kathleen wandered in with her lipstick smudged slightly, "Oh that boy… he gets me going!"

Eleanor made a face while Romilda and Daisy giggled. Kathleen's boyfriend was a bookish little fellow with a strange sense of humor, and boasted an even stranger set of hobbies. He had an awful habit of producing awkward and sometimes offensive observations, and standing a bit too close. Kathleen claimed he was a romantic, but the thought of Alfie Cook brandishing a red rose at a candlelight dinner was disturbing. Some comment on the mating habits of Erumpets would come up, or something equally unappetizing.

"That must be it! A boy's got you going to the library like an addict," shouted Romilda.

"Romilda, please…"

"No, no! That's it, isn't it? Oh come on, I need _details,_ little Miss Priss."

Eleanor glared at her as she pulled on her school robes, awkwardly fumbling with the left sleeve.

"Well, remember that one night you came back all flustered?" recalled Daisy, "who did you talk to?"

"I was frustrated because I didn't find what I was looking for, and who I spoke to is none of your business."

"Wasn't it the potions professor? I thought I remembered seeing him when I got my reference books on thestrals," said Kathleen.

"Professor Snape? Oh my gosh, Elly. You have a crush on the _potions professor_!" Romilda cackled loudly, clutching her pillow with her perfectly manicured nails.

"Oh shut up, will you? I do not."

"You do! Oh gosh, your face is bright red, Elly. You totally do!"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Silence fell in their room, but Romilda was still grinning. The other two observed Romilda with a bit of unease, each trying to diffuse the tension by resuming what they had been doing.

"I have class," said Eleanor flatly and retreated from the room as Romilda shouted, "Hots for teacher!"

Eleanor's cheeks burned, but only out of anger. Maybe she should steal that stupid pink pillow of hers and smother her in her sleep. Her cackling was positively dreadful. But then, deep down Eleanor began to regret what she had said, and how she said it. She didn't need to raise her voice or get so upset, she just did and only realized how silly it was afterwards. She sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, and tried to push the conversation from her mind. Soon, she wouldn't even see any of them again and none of this would matter. But the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach reminded her that it mattered _now_.

The Astronomy tower was blissfully quiet. Only a handful of seventh years continue with astronomy, so Eleanor was surrounded by people she knew would leave her be, or at least interact with some maturity. She peered through her bronze telescope, sketching the moon's landscape for a third time. Astronomy was her only escape from the chaos between Antony and Romilda. She couldn't think of any practical applications for a proper job her father would approve of concerning it though. Professor Flitwick hadn't mentioned anything during her Career Advice fifth year either. Eleanor had simply selected the "general" track of courses and made sure that she was in potions, astronomy, and herbology. Even now, her career track was marked "undecided", much to her father's displeasure. He wanted her to be better prepared, and she was simply struggling to figure out what to do.

Eleanor peered over the edge of the railing, studying the dizzying drop with wavering bravery. Far below, a pair of prefects crossed the courtyard on their patrol right on schedule. It came time to leave and the students collected their things in silence, quietly saying their goodnights to Professor Sinistra. She received them in silence, giving them a curt nod while stroking the neck of her large owl, Ptolemy. Eleanor was lost in her own thoughts as she trudged down the steps, her classmates pushing past eager to get some sleep. Eleanor was in no hurry to get back to her room, where the girls would either be hissing about their day over the edges of their pillows while the wireless blasted the newest single by Guys and Ghouls, or snoring from behind their dark blue curtains.

"Miss Bristow?" called a gentle voice.

She looked up, "Good evening, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled to her, "I trust your studies are going well?"

"Yes sir," she replied, eyes dropping to the hem of his spangled robes.

"Very good, very good." He nodded, one hand starting to stroke his long, white beard. "I wonder if you might do me a favor?"

"Of course, sir," she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

"Will you run down to the dungeons and ask Professor Snape to join me in my office? I would go but…" He chuckled, glancing down at his feet, "I am not as quick as I once was."

"Yes, sir," she breathed a sigh of disappointment. Eleanor had hoped for something more interesting to do for the eclectic headmaster, perhaps pertaining to her slowly dwindling private lessons. She was beginning to worry that she wasn't progressing as much as he liked, although she already knew she was well past her limits.

"Very good. Off you go," he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "Your astronomy pass should do if Mr. Filch stops you."

"Good night sir," she nodded as she hurried off, clutching her books tightly.

The castle was a strange and wonderfully tranquil place at night. The shadows on the walls and strange creaks and groans of the old castle produced no fear in Eleanor. Not even the slowly drifting ghosts that permeated through the walls could spook her more than an instant. Except, perhaps, that of the Bloody Baron. Beyond his appearance, he was a right nasty person - did that still apply? - to be around. She moved quickly down flights of steps, tracing her way past dimmed torches and sleeping portraits. The farther she plunged into the depths of the castle, the cooler and quieter it became. The portraits vanished, leaving behind bare walls and fewer torches to light her way.

If one didn't enjoy such dark solitude, thought Eleanor, this would be like a prison at night. Of course, it was the _dungeons _after all. A very dismal residence indeed. She came upon the potions door, which was still open. Slipping inside quietly, she looked around the dark classroom. Cauldrons were put up, ingredients stored, books gone. Not a sound except a dripping noise from somewhere in a dark corner. It echoed loudly in her ears as she walked towards the office door, and suddenly her own breathing was far too loud for the quiet. The great wooden door was slightly ajar, so Eleanor cautiously peeked through at the dimly lit office. A small fire was in the hearth, giving the place a token amount of warmth.

With a shiver, she knocked softly. There came no reply. Nervously, she pushed the door open.

"Professor?" she called, barely above a whisper.

She noticed a slumped form at the desk. Momentarily, Eleanor was afraid something was wrong with him.

"Professor?"

Snape appeared to be asleep, his back rising and falling evenly and his face nearly covered by his ink black hair. His black frock coat and robes were hung over the back of the chair, and the sleeves of his white shirt were pushed up over his elbows as if he had been hard at work. Nearby, a tiny cauldron simmered on a hook over the fire. Cautiously, Eleanor crept up to the table, trying her hardest not to create a racket that would jar him awake too violently. Her toes stumbled into the bottom of the desk with a little _thunk_.

"Um, Professor?" She tapped the edge of his desk gingerly.

Her eyes fell upon the inside of his left arm, where she noticed something marring his smooth, sallow skin. It was a faint reddish design, and the closer she got, the more she recognized the symbol. A cold wash of fear went through her, hoping it was a trick of the light or the result of far too much daydreaming in class. It had to be, she was sure it was simply a strange old scar.

"Lily?"

Eleanor froze. Snape was looking up at her, his eyes bloodshot and his face blotchy. At first, he appeared dazed with his eyes squinting and a deep line between his brows, but slowly his expression changed and the edge returned to his voice.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked coldly.

"I…" Her voice stopped in her throat.

Snape stood stiffly and glared down at her as he rolled down his sleeves and fiddled with the buttons. Her eyes followed his fingers as they roughly shoved the last button through its loop.

"I had astronomy class and-…"

"Get out."

"But-…"

"I said, get out!" His voice echoed loudly in the cold, dark room. It set her teeth on edge.

"But Professor Dumbledore-…" Eleanor backed away from him, her hand feeling for the door behind her. "He asked me to tell you he wants to see you. In his office."

"OUT!"

Without another word, Eleanor fled. She didn't stop running until she had put two floors between them, with her chest burning from the dash up so many shifting stairs. The Dark Mark on a teacher. To her he seemed so harmless, a little cold and abrasive maybe, but _normal_. The way he carried himself with his shoulders drooping and long hair curtaining around his face only led her to think he was depressed, not dangerous. She began to wonder if Dumbledore knew, if McGonagall or Flitwick knew, if anyone knew.

Perhaps she was overreacting. It simply could _not_ be the Dark Mark. It didn't look all that clear, or _dark_ for that matter. Her imagination was running wild and her eyes were tired and playing tricks on her. The pale blob could have been from a potions accident, or a broomstick collision, or the result of a run in with a tetchy Kneazle. It was _highly_ unlikely that something she had probably seen in the paper that morning was what she was spotted on her professor's arm.

Eleanor looked down and noticed she had dropped her little notebook. Too frightened to go back, and afraid Filch would get onto her for searching for it past curfew, she decided to go to bed without it and look in the morning. Eleanor listened for the riddle at the entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitory, the bronze eagle knocker regarding her placidly:

_"A man with no legs walked to it._

_A man with no eyes has seen it._

_A man with no arms picked it up._

_A man with no ears has heard it._

_What am I?"_

Eleanor only thought for a moment, "A lie."


	8. Revenge

Eleanor did her best to blend in with the dungeon walls during potions. Snape didn't speak to her, he barely looked at her, and she did the same. Questions still burned in her brain, that mark was a horrible mystery that she couldn't resolve. She was also tired of Sinistra getting on to her about her astronomy notes. Despite her efforts, she couldn't find her notebook anywhere. She had redrawn nearly all of the maps that were due, but she wasn't as satisfied with them as the old ones.

Romilda laughed loudly, crumbs flying from her mouth, while Kathleen's high-pitched cackling echoed over her. Somehow, no matter how far away she sat, Eleanor found herself too close to that girl and her swarm of creeps. Despite the roar of chatter and chewing in the Great Hall, Romilda's irritating voice still managed to grate on her nerves. Halfway through her chicken, she could hear that cackle growing louder.

Eleanor finished her drink and glared over at her roommates, who exploded in a fit of laughter. Confused, she looked back down at her meal before noticing a strange tingling sensation all over her skin. She looked down at her wrist and started to see small red bumps appear.

"What's the matter, Elly?" Romilda appeared behind her, appearing to be struggling against a fit of edges of her lips kept tipping upwards as her fingers looped around a lock of brown hair.

All of a sudden, Eleanor's skin felt like it was on fire, flaring up angrily as though it were blistering from a terrible sunburn, and itched horribly. The more she scratched, the more her skin burned and soon she scratched enough to make it bleed. She stood, frantically scratching her arms and neck as her hip bumped into the table, rattling the dishes and spilled drops of juice from several goblets. Her shout of surprise at the sight of raised, red marks popping up all over made several teachers look up from their meal, including Snape whose black eyes were immediately upon the Ravenclaw girl.

Eleanor, furious, turned to Romilda, "You fat whore!" She turned and ran out of the Great Hall, knowing full well how much that comment hurt Romilda, and she was glad. But immediately, she began to think of far better things to have shouted at her.

When Madam Pomfrey finally got the burning hives to calm down, she gave Eleanor a reassuring smile, "There. All better, dear."

Something about her smile made Eleanor uncomfortable. It twitched and faltered in a very unsettling way that Madam Pomfrey only displayed when she was lying, like when she told John Loughty that his broken nose was as good as new, when really it still looked crooked. As soon as the woman turned to another student, she snatched a mirror from a nearby nightstand, looked at her face and nearly dropped the mirror in fright. Her pale cheeks were covered in thousands of tiny red dots. They overpowered her freckles completely. She had never seen them disappear so completely before. Not even with Madam Primpernelle's freckle-vanisher.

Gingerly she touched her face, tears welling in her eyes. Madam Pomfrey had noticed her distress and returned to her side, "Don't worry, my dear, they'll go away. It just takes time."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she smiled. So far, the woman had always been right, but her nervousness was stubborn to wane.

Eleanor trudged back to the Ravenclaw dormitory, dreading the turmoil she would find in her room. When she stepped inside the deep blue common room, she heard someone crying obnoxiously on one of the plush couches.

"I'm not fat! I'm not!" cried Romilda, her hand in a small Honeydukes bag. As soon as she popped a taffy in her mouth she threw the bag down on the mahogany table in disgust. "Did you _hear_ what Noah said after she left? Fat cow, my arse. And _whore_? She's the boy-stealing whore! I can't believe he took her side. It was just a _joke_. She's the one who charmed my favorite top blue."

Kathleen hummed comforting words dutifully, "She's just jealous because Ethan dumped her last year in front of everyone, and you have Antony. Noah's a prat, too."

Eleanor ran to the stairs, ducking low to avoid anyone's gaze, especially the "fat cow" on the couch. Romilda was not fat, but her quickly softening sides had made her whine endlessly in front of the narrow mirror in their dormitory with worry. Personally, Eleanor thought she looked fine. She had curves and looked grown up, and Ella still looked like she did at 11. She burst into her room where Daisy was brushing her hair quietly, humming a Celestina Warbeck hit that played far too often on the wireless.

"Elly?"

"Good night!" Eleanor snapped the curtains shut. She buried her face in the sky blue silk eiderdown covering her bed, ignoring Daisy's whining to come out and talk, and stayed like that until she could hear Kathleen's loud snoring. The dark room was still and dark when Eleanor poked her head out from behind her curtains. When she was sure Romilda and the others were asleep, she crept over and began to dig in Romilda's trunk.

Every little noise scared Eleanor as she searched, afraid it might wake the others. But she reminded herself that none of the noises she was making were louder than Kathleen. There was no need for a silencing charm with her racket. At last, her fingers found a little bottle of orange liquid. Checking the label by wandlight, she grinned. _Payback_.

Carefully, she uncorked the bottle and dumped its entire contents onto Romilda's pillow and hair while the girl slept on her stomach with her mouth hanging open. She should know better than to prank someone with a potion who had higher marks in the subject. But Ella didn't need high marks to know a little goes a long way.

Still grinning, Eleanor hopped into bed and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep before she was awoken the next morning by a piercing shriek.

Romilda was in tears, her face was swollen up five times its normal size, covered in huge pus filled boils. She tried to talk but her lips were too big to form most of the sounds. She took one look at Eleanor and threw a textbook at her, screaming nonsense. Her wand was useless, as she still wasn't proficient with wandless magic. She kept waving it about while her tangled hair, resembling a fuzzy, brown cloud, kept sticking to the oozing pustules covering her neck and cheeks.

Eleanor grabbed her clothes and schoolbag and ran out the door, dressing hastily in the corridor. Hiding her face in the halls, she had nearly made it to Herbology before Flitwick caught her in the halls. The little man was simply furious, shrieking for her to stop and charming her bag to become instantly heavy so she couldn't dash away. Luckily for Eleanor, Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere, calm as ever.

"Whatever is the matter, Filius?" asked Dumbledore with a smile, lifting the charm on Eleanor's bag as she struggled to untangle herself from the strap and climb off the floor.

"Miss Bristow has disfigured the face of a fellow student with a childish prank!"

"Is this true?"

Eleanor could feel his gaze upon her, "It was _her_ potion."

"Did you use it on your classmate?"

"…Yes, sir." _She did it first_.

"Detention," squeaked Flitwick, "Every Friday until the end of term!"

Eleanor's spirits sank. There was no way Romilda would get into such trouble. In fact, she hadn't for what she had done to Eleanor the night before despite several teachers seeing, including Flitwick.

"Miss Bristow, might I have a word with you?" Dumbledore silenced Flitwick's scolding in an instant.

"Of course, sir."

They went to his office (the new password being: "spearmint gumdrops") and settled into a pair of chairs. Dumbledore seemed so relaxed in the sunlit office, as if nothing had happened. Stark contrast to the tiny Ravenclaw professor sputtering detentions in a frustrated fury. The Headmaster studied something on his desk before sweeping it away with a flick of his wrist and leaned back in his ornate, high-backed chair as he gave her his, seemingly, complete attention

"Do you have any plans for when you leave Hogwarts?"

"Nothing solid, sir." She could see the expectant look in his eyes, though she wondered where his question had come from.

"None?"

"I didn't have much when I did my career advice meeting, except knowing I did not want to work in the healing arts or herbology. I'd like to play professional Quidditch, but… My father doesn't think that is a respectable future."

Dumbledore nodded and sat quietly, his fingers folding beneath the long, pale blue sleeves of his robes, which wrinkled lightly, emblazoned with thousands of tiny stars that caught the light.

"I wouldn't mind pursuing potion making."

"Ah, a fascinating study. Perhaps you'd like to continue as an apprentice somewhere?" His smile never faltered, and seemed to deepen at her comment in a knowing way.

"Maybe. I don't know where." Her chin dropped to her chest, feeling uncomfortable as she waited for the scolding to come. He expected better of her than most students, since she was one of the ones who had private lessons with him, and did not hesitate to remind her on most occasions.

"Opportunities will come along," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

They sat there for a long time, not saying much before Dumbledore offered a sweet, which she politely declined. At last, Dumbledore seemed to understand she wasn't willing to say much and began to excuse her.

"Perhaps a few less detentions, Miss Bristow. Keep up with your studies," he smiled as she retreated to the door.

"Thank you, sir." Eager to leave before anything more could be said, she fled the office for class, giving the gargoyle a wary look on her way out.

Eleanor had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she noticed the way Kathleen glared at her through the rest of Transfiguration class. Her nose was turned up the entire time and the empty seat beside her was very clearly noticed. Revenge was coming from Romilda, and she had to be ready.


	9. The Book & Blood

Snape eyed the little notebook with disdain. Curiosity was a cruel mistress. He hadn't touched the thing since he put it on his desk a week ago. He knew whose it was, and as many times as he tried to simply hand it back to her, Snape couldn't resist the opportunity to see what was inside that fake Lily's head, just to see why she stuck out so much from the rest of the twits roaming the halls.

At last his fingers brushed the cover, wiping away the thin film of dust that had collected upon it.

_This is wrong_, he thought to himself. _Absurd. Silly._ Yet his fingers undid the latch and the book fell open in his hands. He sat there guiltily, peering down at the inside cover.

_This notebook is property of Eleanor Violet Bristow of __1313 Winding Vine Lane, Boggart Bay, Pembrokeshire__. If found please return. _

There it was, in her careful looping writing. _Return it, put it down_, he urged himself but instead looked at the first page. It was a drawing of the surface of Mars, perfectly rendered with tiny details and location notes for the craters that dotted the surface. He flipped through and found more diagrams of the planets and the moon, sky charts, notes on constellations. Completely absorbed in the tiny book, he let time slip by until a yawn called him to sleep.

About to oblige, Snape sat up just as his eyes glanced over a little note at the bottom of a page on Mercury.

_Never attempt fire when lightheaded._

Checking the date, it looked around the time he had caught Dumbledore and that girl in the Room of Requirement, when he brought the burn relieving solution. He turned another page and found another note.

_Never attempt to fly near the owlery._

Thoroughly confused, Snape continued. He found the same notes as the ones he had spotted in the library.

_Animagi can __only__ change into one animal, and have no choice in what kind. __3?_

The next few pages held notes on potion making, improvements and ingredients listed out covering most of their pages. He stopped on a page after a series of moon surface studies, where there was a picture doodled of a little bird, a dragon's head with an unfinished body, and a fox. Below the drawing was a quickly scribbled note.

_Chaser tryouts, Saturday next, 12:30._

* * *

><p>Eleanor walked briskly down the corridor, books in hand, while deep in thought. She needed to go to the library to finish up her Transfiguration paper and her Herbology research. She made her way towards the staircase, but just as she passed by the girls' lavatory, someone seized her around the middle from behind. She let out a shriek and squirmed and struggled as she was dragged into the lavatory, the floor changing to cracked, stained tile with a film of dirt. She could see Sean dumping her belongings in the corner, her books spilling carelessly onto the floor, while Antony and William waited, leaning against the sinks with smirks on their faces.<p>

"Put me down!" she screamed, trying to pry Toby's hands from her. "Put me down, you _bastard_!"

"Whoa! Language, Bristow," he jokingly scolded.

He tossed her roughly into Antony's arms, who seized her sharply by the shoulders with a grin. "Boys an' me thought you could help us out before DADA class."

"Let me go, Antony Flint! I don't give a toss about you or your bloody mates. Now leave me alone!" She tried to shove him away, but he stood firm, being a foot taller than she was.

"Incarcerous!" shouted Sean, which sent ropes around Eleanor's wrists with a crack while Antony fumbled with the front of his pants.

Eleanor struggled against the ropes, fumbling with the handle of her wand as Antony shoved her backwards. The wall was cold against her back and grew colder when she realized what was going on. In a panic, she screamed and kicked at him while he undid his zipper. At last she pulled her wand and broke free of the ropes, sending a curse in Antony's direction. He ducked, letting it hit the mirror behind him, which shattered into a spray of glittering pieces. He countered and soon the bathroom erupted into a shower of water and dust and glass as the boys and Eleanor ducked and ran while sending a variety of hexes and curses at one another. The bathroom began to reek of poorly aimed, overdone spells - much like the foul incense that poured out from the Divinations classroom.

There was a little gasp and the sound of sloshing toilet water that got lost in the noise of the scuffle.

Once, Toby bumped into Eleanor and instead of cursing him, she punched him square in the nose. He reeled backwards, crying out while blood splattered all over his face. "Ugh, you _bitch_! What the bloody hell was that?"

"Guys," called William, who was standing watch near the door.

Sean and Eleanor were sending a volley of hexes at one another while Antony advanced, all completely ignoring William.

"Guys!" He called again.

Antony cornered Eleanor near the sinks and sent a nasty curse at her just as William shouted, "Guys! Teachers!"

The curse hit Eleanor in the neck, and at once she could feel a horrible stinging, ripping sensation. She gasped and put a hand to her throat, dropping her wand. She could feel her hand grow wet as she staggered towards the sinks. Her breath became difficult to draw. Her shield charm had been too slow, too weak. Antony fumbled with his belt and spat at her, "_You're_ the whore! Good for nothing blood traitor. The next time you mess with Romilda's face, I'll kill you!"

McGonagall appeared in the bathroom, with Snape trailing cautiously behind. Moaning Myrtle floated back to her toilet with a splash. The boys froze as Eleanor fell onto the ground, gasping hysterically as blood began to run down her chest, staining her shirt.

"My goodness," exclaimed McGonagall as the boys tried to flee past her and Snape. "Stop!" She waved her wand and sent them crashing to the ground, their legs stuck together holding them captive while McGonagall began her tirade of frantic scolding.

Snape went over to Eleanor's crumpled form, gently turning her over. She was crying hysterically, her hand fastened around her neck with blood oozing out between her fingers. Her wand lay forgotten on the damp ground. He pried away her hand, revealing a ugly, deep gash. Recoiling slightly, he held her head still and raised his wand to the wound, " Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur."

The blood began to scab over as the wound knit together. Eleanor started to calm down, partially from weakness, but also as the pain of the wound began to ebb away into a dull ache.

"Vulnera sanentur." Snape repeated one last time.

McGonagall appeared visibly angered still, "I shall leave those troublemakers to you, Severus."

Snape looked down at the girl. With her eyes closed, it seemed to him that was Lily lying there in a bloody mess. His chest burned angrily. Her gold eyes fastened themselves upon him, and there he sat spellbound for an instant as she studied him. The constellations of red spots had vanished from her face and hands, he had noticed, replaced by tiny cuts no doubt from the bits of mirror and porcelain scattered about. Some of the boys were worse; one with a very swollen lip and cheek gave his Head of House a nasty look that looked even more foul with the addition of swelling.

Minerva gently took Eleanor's hand, "I will help her to Poppy. Come along, my dear. Can you walk?"

He watched McGonagall help her sit up and lead her away after carefully looking her over.

"What about us?" Toby asked sourly as he pinched his still bleeding nose.

McGonagall gave him a quick glance before replying tersely, "You'll live."

The girl struggled to stand and she staggered away weakly in Minerva's steady grip, and Snape stood frozen on the spot until that haunting red hair vanished.


	10. Who is Lily?

Guilt finally got to him. Snape was tired of seeing that little book burn holes on his desk. He had to return it and act like it was nothing. He didn't want to admit how much he enjoyed looking at the drawings of the planets and night sky. He never really cared for astronomy much, but the diagrams with their careful little notes became a nightly habit, a welcome respite from grading the dreadful stack of second year essays, each exactly eighteen and a half inches.

The only problem with his plan was Eleanor's recent absences. She had missed class, which would have been an easy return for him, even removing himself entirely by slipping it onto the floor in some dark corner of the classroom. He could only guess she was still in the hospital wing. As much as he hated to go, he needed to get rid of that book. Exams were coming up, and then any chance of returning the little thing would be gone.

Severus stepped into the hospital wing as soon as he saw Dumbledore rise out of a chair across the room. The old man gave a reassuring smile to the bed's occupant on his right and walked away, eyes meeting Snape immediately.

"Severus, what are you doing up here?"

Put on the spot, Snape shifted uncomfortably, "I'm here to drop off a found object. It looked important."

"That's awfully kind of you, Severus," Dumbledore grinned, making the younger man feel even more uncomfortable.

"Took up space," he said quietly.

"I see. Well, I should warn you, she might not be the most inviting right now."

"I'm not here to chat," Snape said defensively.

"Even so, please, watch your tone around her. Her father has passed."

A cold shiver went down Severus's spine. He felt Dumbledore give his shoulder a little pat.

"I'll let you to it, then."

Snape waited until the old man had shuffled away, and Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office after unsuccessfully trying to urge Eleanor to drink something. The girl was propped up in bed, her neck bandaged along with several other, smaller bandages from the debris in the fight. Her hair had been braided for her, and she sat looking completely miserable in a hospital gown two sizes too big for her thin frame. She was staring off into space when he walked up quietly.

He could see she had been crying, her eyes were as red as her hair and her cheeks were a mess. She kept her long, thin arms folded in her lap, the rest of her buried under the coarse hospital blanket. There were plenty of bottles crowding her nightstand, mostly blood-replenishing and anti-scarring potions, and beside them was a little stack of opened mail. Snape caught a glimpse of the top bit of stationery.

…_we are pleased to offer you a position as chaser on the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team…_

"I said, I don't want anything," she said without looking to see who it was, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Snape said nothing, clutching the little leather book in his hands. Slowly, and with great difficultly, she turned and looked up at him. He pressed the book down onto the table with a guilty look on his face. Eleanor looked at the book with mild astonishment.

"Where did you-…"

"It was left in my classroom," said Snape quietly.

She gave him an incredulous look.

"I didn't read it," he lied, not knowing why he felt the need to say so.

Eleanor said nothing, and merely stared at the book under his fingers. At last she spoke, "It's been an awfully long time."

"I only now found it."

"Liar."

The ease and rapidity of her accusation took him by surprise. There was a harsh look in her eyes as she glared up at him, apparently unafraid of any consequences.

"I don't care if you looked at it. I'm only curious to know why you did, or why you've kept it so long."

"As I told you, I only just know found it-…"

"You're lying," she said dangerously.

The tone of her voice and the intensity of her gaze made Snape lower himself into the wooden chair beside her bed, entranced.

"If you're going to lie, Professor, then at least make an effort." Eleanor sat back, tenderly touching a bandage on her arm. "You fidget slightly when you lie, and you look guilty."

Snape studied her ghostly pale face, silent with disbelief. He was young, yes, and he was new, but no student dared talk to him so freely so far. Yet he said nothing against it.

"You didn't answer my question, Professor," Eleanor whispered.

"To see its owner so I could return it-…"

"You're lying, _again_. Really, it's as though you aren't trying."

"_Curiosity_," hissed Snape.

Eleanor was silent as she looked away from him, "Who is Lily?"

"What?"

"Who is Lily, and why do you call me that?"

"None of your business," Snape snapped.

"Did she die? Around Halloween?"

The accuracy of her questioning shot through his heart like an arrow and the cold grip of sadness returned anew. He slumped in the chair, eyes searching the floor. He had forgotten that girl was there that night in Dumbledore's office. He had forgotten she had seen him slip, his carefully maintained mind in anguish.

"I'm sorry. If she did, whoever she is," Eleanor said softly, noticing her comment had hurt him. "I'm sorry, really I am. I didn't mean to sound like that. Or say that. I'm just… _upset_. I'm sorry."

Snape sat like a statue.

"Please," she said touching his hand lightly. "Please, I'm sorry."

Her hand was so cold, he thought to himself. He sighed, fighting the urge to jerk away. She seemed too fragile for him to move.

"Thank you… for the other day," she said.

At last he looked up at her, feeling her gold eyes fixed upon him in his mind before actually seeing them. The notion of this student practicing legilimency crossed his mind. Her ease of reading his lies and her mysterious lessons with Dumbledore encouraging the silly prospect.

Eleanor lightly touched the bandage on her neck, "Whatever you did… you really saved me. Thank you."

The sincerity in her voice made his heart flutter. For a moment, he could see Lily staring back at him, thanking him for showing her how to transfigure her holly branch into a sturdy chair. Snape suddenly jumped to his feet, turned, and retreated from the hospital wing leaving Eleanor alone and bewildered. She gently picked up the book from her nightstand and flipped through the familiar pages. Her fingers stopped on one page as she noticed something different. In one of her potions notes, her own idea, two of the lines of instructions were scratched out and replaced by a couple lines of tiny scrawl. She traced the corrections lightly with her fingertips.

"I knew it," she whispered to herself.


	11. The World Cup

_1990~_

Snape sat with his face buried in the paper, his breakfast untouched in front of him. Many of the staff had arrived at Hogwarts at the end of August to prepare their rooms and make lesson plans. Snape didn't care for his home on Spinner's End enough to stay another few days before the start of term, so he, too, came early to Hogwarts for yet another year of babysitting ignorant children.

His eyes consumed the column on the recent World Cup, darting across lines of text hungrily while the edges crackled in his too-tight grip. Wales had won the World Cup again, as they had done back in 1986. The large picture at the top of the column featured the national team, standing and waving in their uniforms with triumphant grins on their faces. Near the center was a smiling young woman, one hand on her waist, the other holding the World Cup trophy along with another wizard with slim glasses and messy brown hair. She was unmistakable, even in newsprint, just like the last time.

Snape found an individual picture of her below, where the columnist, Rita Skeeter, had done little blurbs about the players. His eyes skimmed past the lengthy introduction until he found the write up he was looking for.

_Eleanor Bristow, 27, chaser of the Welsh National Team helped earn yet another World Cup victory this year. She is famous for her nine-year career with the Welsh team the Holyhead Harpies. "I'm considering retirement in another year or two," says Bristow, next to her soon to be fiancé, Thomas Peregrine, keeper for the National Team and the Caerphilly Catapults. _

Snape glanced down at the keeper's picture. Messy brown hair, glasses, poorly shaved stubble - he was nothing special, although the listing of his humanitarian efforts would say otherwise. Snape looked at the small article only briefly, catching the line "_and this reporter finds him quite the looker_" among the dribble. He made a face and turned his attention back to Eleanor Bristow's picture. Her hair was longer than her last photo, but she had the same angular eyes, the same freckles, the same timid posture.

"I didn't know you were a fan of Quidditch, Severus," Dumbledore smiled from over Snape's shoulder.

Severus smashed the paper down onto the table, narrowly avoiding his goblet and plate full of now cold yet untouched breakfast. "I'm not."

"Then may I?" asked Dumbledore, reaching for the pages on the World Cup.

Snape sat stiffly as Dumbledore plucked the paper from his hands and glanced it over. He grinned as Flitwick toddled past, "Did you see? How grown up she is now!"

"Quite the young woman," replied Dumbledore. "You were right to put her on the team while she was here, Filius."

"I knew it! If only she had stayed out of trouble a bit more," the little man piped in. "A brilliant little thing, like all Ravenclaws naturally." He grinned broadly at this and Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly. "And there's Argall, another gem. He had quite a gift for charms like his mother. Not a bad beater either, it seems. And Peregrine - my, has he been busy this year leading a new fund for brooms and lessons for underprivileged youth! I knew he would do great things ever since we named him Prefect for his year."

Snape sourly picked at his food, ignoring the chatter around him. As soon as he had begun to forget about that wretched girl, there she was popping up in plain sight. That Peregrine fellow, he scoffed, looked like a dunderhead if Snape had ever saw one. Nothing remarkable, despite what Flitwick had to say about his cleverness or good deeds. Reminded him a little of James Potter, the toerag. A completely idiotic, arrogant fool, a nobody aside from his plain looks and Quidditch stardom. How someone like him had swept Lily off her feet was beyond him. She deserved better, and so did that Eleanor girl despite his disliking of her.

So wrapped in this thoughts, Snape hardly noticed he had alerted the attention of the older wizards at his particularly vicious stabbing of the eggs that now sat like wet confetti next to his crumbled toast. Even now he couldn't distinguish what made the Bristow girl stand out to him. However, there were more important things to worry about he reminded himself. He let his fork clatter onto his plate loudly, took a long gulp of coffee, and excused himself.


	12. Returning to Hogwarts

1993~

Eleanor read a thick volume silently, curled up near the window of her compartment of the Hogwarts Express. She and the other three passengers, second year Hufflepuff girls, exchanged glances as the train's brakes began to screech. The wrappers of pumpkin pasties and sugar quills piled high between the girls shifted and fluttered onto the floor. Eleanor's Chocolate Cauldron box tumbled away as they came to an abrupt halt.

"What's going on?" asked one of the girls with frizzy brown hair, "why are we stopping?"

Eleanor held onto the latch of the window as the train lurched and the lights went out. She heard the rain beating against the window and the frightened murmur of the other students in their compartments.

"We're _not_ at Hogwarts, why have we stopped?" cried another Hufflepuff girl, hysteria creeping into her voice.

"It's so cold," said the third, watching their breath rise in little clouds.

"Stay calm, everything will be fine," Eleanor tried to reassure them as she walked over to the compartment door.

The sound of the rain disappeared, looking over Eleanor discovered the window had frozen over completely. The train lurched again violently, sending the Hufflepuffs into a fit of screams while Eleanor struggled to stay on her feet. Something was moving on the other side of the compartment door. A ghost clothed in black.

"Bloody hell," she whispered, feeling all of her courage draining right out of her. "Don't move, girls."

They all held their breath as the creature paused at their door, a moment that dragged on painfully long until at last it glided away. Eleanor raised her wand to the door, her hand quivering while dozens of spells sparked in her head that she _could_ and probably _should_ use. But nothing happened. Her wand was uselessly resting against the glass of the door. They heard a latch click, and Eleanor could see the ghost disappearing into the compartment next to theirs. The Hufflepuffs sighed in relief. Suddenly, a bright bluish light burst from the other compartment, and the shadow fled, scraping its long, hideous fingers across their door as it went. The girls sat silently, clutching one another with wide eyes as the lights came back on and the train began to move again.

Before picking up her book again, Eleanor saw a young man - too old to be a student, like herself - walking by in a tattered set of robes. The Hufflepuff girls had dissolved into a flurry of hushed chatter until they had reached Hogwarts' station.

The event on the train had left a lasting chill on Eleanor's skin as she followed the line of students inside. How strange it was to see the first years gathering, eyes wide with excitement, while their older counterparts passed by rejoining old friends and teasing the newbies as they disappeared into the Great Hall. Eleanor wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to do. She wore a set of Hogwarts robes, which bore only the crest of the school itself. It was odd not to see her blue and bronze necktie, or the little raven that usually emblazoned the side of her robes. Overall it made her feel like an overgrown eleven year old. She peeked into the hall and saw a large gathering of students already seated at their tables, while the staff had taken their own seats at the high table.

McGonagall, shepherding the first years into the hall, touched her lightly on the shoulder, "Come with me, my dear."

The elder witch led her to the high table, and seated her on one of the sides next to Professor Sinistra and Professor Sprout. The two women tried their best welcome her, recalling her schooling some twelve years prior. But for Eleanor, it was like being on her best behavior once again, trying her best to remember her manners and posture and every school rule so she wouldn't get a detention or a scolding.

"My, how you've grown! Such a lovely young woman you are," said Professor Sprout. Her cheeks flushed pink as she stifled a giggle. Her fingernails were still dark with dirt and her hair still curled wildly out from under her hat. Professor Sprout hadn't changed dramatically - just the color of her hair and the number of wrinkles pinched at the edges of her cheeks had multiplied. There was a comfort in that.

"Thank you, Professor," Eleanor replied.

"Please, you're old enough to call me Pomona," she insisted.

"I've heard you've been off playing Quidditch," said Professor Sinistra, dangling her goblet in two delicate fingers. She appeared, remarkably, unchanged.

"Yes ma'am, for the Welsh National team and the Harpies," she nodded.

The woman nodded and turned to her drink, visibly unimpressed. It stung a little, leaving Eleanor to find refuge in studying the folds of her perfectly placed napkin resting beside her golden plate.

"You always were quite talented," said Pomona," but I am glad you've returned to study. Such a fine student you were. I'm glad it'll be you snipping leaves and bits instead of Severus. He has _absolutely_ no delicacy about him; treats my Fanged Geraniums so roughly, they wilted for a fortnight!"

Eleanor thanked her as the sorting ceremony started. Everything was just as it was years ago, the worn wooden tables and the benches that made you sit a little too close to your neighbor at times, the hourglasses waiting to be filled, thousands of candles gently drifting overhead that never seemed to drip on anyone. It was comforting, yet memories of not-so wonderful dinners wandered into her thoughts as she fixed her plate. Especially the one that severed her once-fun friendship with Romilda and Kathleen when Romilda had dropped a nasty handful of comments about Eleanor's mother and blood status. She hadn't expected such treatment from another Ravenclaw, let alone her _friend_.

Eleanor's eyes wandered around the table, noticing the man she had seen on the train. Professor R. J. Lupin, he had been introduced as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and looked as though he hadn't slept in days. The name Lupin sounded like one she had heard during her schooling, but it was reluctant to come to mind. He wore a serene smile and waved timidly to Flitwick - who had been frantically trying to get his attention for several minutes - before sliding into his seat. Next to him was a familiar face, one that made Eleanor nearly choke on her pumpkin juice.

"You alright, dearie?" asked Pomona, who had polished off a leg of chicken in nothing flat.

Eleanor met Snape's gaze, and he looked shocked for an instant before turning away, bearing his usual calm façade as Dumbledore began his start of term speech.

"Yes," she said quietly, sinking in her chair. It seemed her old teacher hadn't lost his scowl, and she wondered how much he had changed. Snape looked uncomfortable next to the new professor, shifting ever so slightly away from him as Dumbledore warned everyone about the dementors outside the castle grounds. That familiar flutter in the pit of her stomach returned and she desperately tried to drown it in pumpkin juice.


	13. Unwanted Assistant

Silence.

Eleanor had never experienced such tranquility in her room at Hogwarts before. For once, there was no Romilda, Kathleen, or Daisy to bother her. No arguing about curtains, music, or perfumes. She looked around the little room, satisfied with its cozy, quiet walls. It would do nicely. The rain outside beat against the little windows in an uneven rhythm as she began to unpack and light a fire to cut the chill of the night and the lasting feeling from the dementors on the train.

Her broomstick earned a place of honor in the corner by her bed. She put up a few photos of her friends from the Harpies and the National Team. It seemed so strange not to be training with them, and to be off her exercise regimen. She stared at the smiling and laughing faces in their little frames. Thomas, she would miss the fellow more than the rest for obvious reasons. Morgan, Sean, Connor, Fran, and Gwenog; they were all wonderful companions, and kept her so busy it seemed strange to be alone again. Being here at Hogwarts; she could hardly believe that, too.

Even after her trunk was unpacked, the room still seemed bare. A worn rug she had grabbed from her flat barely covered the dusty floor before the fireplace. Rugs would be something to add to the shopping list. Her books filled a couple of the rickety wooden shelves across from her bed, welcome tokens of normality. There wasn't enough room on the small windowpanes to place any potted plants, the sink dripped in the bathroom, and she was sure something was moving under her bed, but this was home now. She burrowed under two down comforters - while laying atop two more - and listened to the rain as she drifted to sleep.

Waking up for the first day of school was as hard as it used to be. Groggily, she looked around as sunlight streamed in through her windows, blinding her with their cheerful greeting. She could feel her long red hair had turned into a rat's nest overnight. She pulled on her clothes with her eyes shut, praying she matched somewhat decently, and attacked her hair the best she could until it was straight-ish and smooth, running in gentle waves past her waist. She stuck an elastic band around her wrist in case she needed to pull it back.

Checking herself in the mirror, she slapped the wrinkles out of her skirt and marched off to breakfast.

_Should I have put makeup on_, she wondered as she walked, noting the stares from students in the corridors, _perhaps…_

She drowned out her worries and first day jitters in juice and toast. The students all buzzed with sleepy excitement around her, most about as awake as she was. She watched the Ravenclaw table with a bit of longing. The faces had changed, and the uniforms were a little different from the one she had worn, but it was still the blue and bronze table. It was full of books and quills and laughter, and the nostalgia of it all was intoxicating.

She did not see the potions master at breakfast. Eleanor trotted down the stairs into the dungeons to report for work, hardly venturing a guess what she might do. Perhaps he hadn't changed much. Perhaps she would spend her days mixing complex and fantastical concoctions, learning new things and inventing her own famous brews. The minute she pushed open the classroom door, her stomach did a flip as her nervousness really settled in.

The room was relatively the same, but darker and damper and there was a new blackened spot on the floor that appeared to be from a blasting hex. Her fingers trailed along the wooden tables as she wandered over to the potions master's office. The door was shut tight, so she knocked lightly.

No reply came, so she knocked again a little louder.

"Enter," someone called flatly.

She undid the latch, newly unlocked, and pushed the door open, hardly knowing what to expect. Inside, Snape sat hunched over papers at his desk. The office had taken a radical change, its walls were now adorned in hundreds of jars of pickled oddities that made her skin crawl, each filled with preservation potions that had putrified a bit and gone stale from contamination. The room was freezing with no fire in the hearth, and Snape sat there without looking up for an uncomfortably long time, his face well hidden behind curtains of long, black hair.

"…Good morning, Professor." Hope for an exciting career was silently shattering in her brain. Her lips twisted into an awful attempt at a smile.

Slowly, his black eyes rose. She couldn't figure out his reaction to her; his body language had become so subtle and foreign compared to the raw state she had left him in during her seventh year, or perhaps, she thought, her memories of him had been distorted. His hair was longer and his face had changed. He looked as though he had been through much in the years between, yet she still found him pleasant to look at excepting the sour look he gave her.

"May I help you?" The timbre of his voice was low and reproachful.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. T-to help. Do you remember? I'm apprenticing here for a little while," she said softly. "Perhaps Dumbledore has reminded you?"

Snape pressed the papers into his desk firmly. "I do not recall consenting."

Goosebumps began to pop up on Eleanor's arms, "I applied last year…"

Snape glared at her.

"In fact, I've already been hired by Dumbledore-…"

"I have no need for you here."

Eleanor began to panic. Shivering, she stood her ground with waning courage, "But Professor, I have the qualifications Dumbledore has asked for and he has already-…"

"You do not have the qualifications that _I_ have asked for."

"Well, what are they?"

"Not wasting twelve years on a pointless sport," he snapped.

Eleanor met his gaze with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. He knew how long it had been? What she had been doing?

"It isn't pointless, and I studied while playing."

"I do not need you here." Bitterness was raw on his tongue.

"But Professor, I am here to learn! It's a bit late for objections now and… and how can you stand it down here? It's freezing!" She exclaimed, rubbing her frozen arms.

"This is my office, I keep it the way I like. I can also object whenever I like."

"But Dumbledore said-…"

Snape flew to his feet, eyes furiously fastened on the girl as he shoved past towards the door. Eleanor trailed after him as they left the dungeons and began briskly walking towards what she could only guess would be Dumbledore's office. His teaching robes billowed out behind him like an ominous cloud. She was about to lose her job without even properly starting it. _Merlin's hairy left-_

Eleanor struggled to keep up with the man, his long legs propelled him quickly down the corridors as she struggled to match his stride. He ignored everything she called to him and muttered the password at the rising staircase. She barely jumped on in time, grabbing the gryffin's wing to steady herself. Without knocking, Snape barged into the elder man's office and let the door hit the wall with a bang.

"What can I do for you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked coolly from a large armchair near Fawkes's perch, interrupted from a book that lay open in his hand.

"Tell me why you've hired _that_," he pointed to Eleanor, barely making an effort to disguise his contempt.

"She will assist you while she studies. There is no tenure position open for her currently, and most unfortunately. The position is not unheard of. Cuthbert has his own-"

"You did not ask me! I do not want an _assistant_. I am capable of doing things on my own."

Eleanor, wide eyed, stepped away from the tall man in black, unsettled by his transformation from the quiet, morose potions teacher she had to the seething and obstinate man before her. What had happened in all of this time? And surely he had known that she was joining as junior staff. Snape was visibly livid yet Dumbledore remained calm as always, gazing at them both with gentle blue eyes.

"Of course. But she is here to learn, and Miss Bristow will assist you in any way she can. Whatever you need, Severus."

Eleanor nodded in agreement, "I won't be a bother, I promise! I'll do anything!"

Snape stood, still fuming with his hands clenched into careful fists by his sides. "Headmaster, I do not need some silly girl getting in my way."

_Silly girl_, she thought angrily, silly_ girl_?

"I will not get in your way, Professor. I will make it a point to avoid it," she snapped.

Dumbledore looked satisfied, "Severus, at least give her a chance. She's not the only apprentice we have hosted recently. In fact, Septima has been narrowing her choices..."

Snape glared at the two of them. He knew Albus had the last say, but why that man chose _this_ girl of all people to intrude on his space he did not know. He and Dumbledore exchanged some whispers before the younger man turned away stiffly.

"Fine," snapped Snape. His body language showed all but defeat.

He and Eleanor left Dumbledore's office in silence, and something about his sharp movements and harsh side glances told Eleanor she was in for a hard first day. He led her to the school storeroom, opening the door to reveal a dusty mess. Layers upon layers of grime caked the jars near the backs of the shelves, and the front featured tins scratched and rusting from years of use. Something skittered about in the corner.

"Clean it," he said.

"But-…"

"I said, _clean_ it," he hissed and walked away in a flurry of black robes.

Eleanor grimaced as a spider crawled by one of the ladder rungs. This was not the apprentice work she was expecting. With a sigh, she got started summoning some little dusting charms while she tried to reorganize the bottle of ingredients into some logical order. She bumped her head as she stood at the top of the ladder, sliding a jar of gillyweed into place. It never occurred to her she would be spending her class day inside a little storeroom, not even seeing the students' faces, or the inside of a cauldron. _Maybe that would change_, she hoped. It had to change, she certainly couldn't clean the storeroom every day.


	14. Moon Charts & Madness

Eleanor found Professor Lupin in the DADA classroom, clearing off a stack of books from the previous session. High above the desks, a humongous dragon skeleton stretched across the room suspended by thin wires. She found herself staring at it, mouth agape with wonder at the intricacies of the bones and the sheer size of them.

"Like it?" Lupin asked warmly.

Smiling, she nodded, "I have a particular…_interest_ in dragons. I've brought your lunar chart."

Lupin took the parchment from her and studied its contents silently. The little drawings and dates were perfectly lined up, checked twice over and checked again just to be sure. She included every moonrise and moonset for good measure in addition to the copious notes requested. Eleanor watched him carefully, trying not to give him notice. She briefly recalled seeing him as a student, though he was a few years ahead of her and in Gryffindor house. He was one of the Marauders. The quiet one who was as bookish as a Ravenclaw and didn't involve himself in the hexing of third years. His companions jinxed her along with another Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff boy with spiked hair in the second floor corridor once. She had been the one to release the Jelly Legs jinx, but she knew better than to retaliate. Even she knew you didn't jinx a Black without kissing your dignity goodbye. The Potters were not as formidable, but James Potter had a reputation for revenge. Very messy revenge.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask Professor Sinistra for it, she is more knowledgeable than I. There might be a slight aberration in the timing."

"I was told you were quite skilled yourself, and I can see now it's true. Thank you." He tucked it away carefully in his pocket. "You've caught me in the middle of something I'm afraid."

"May I help?" Eleanor followed him to an additional, empty classroom. The sunlight streamed in wondrously and a large gramophone sat on a table nearby, giving the room a far more cheerful appearance than she remembered. "If I go back straight away, the only thing I have to look forward to is scrubbing cauldrons and stewing tentacula leaves."

"Severus has you working on that, does he?" Lupin walked over to a shuddering wardrobe. It squeaked and shook from something very desperate within. She eyed it warily, trying to recall what it could be from the creatures and curses she studied in DADA as a student. It could be a number of things, and she hopped it wasn't another poltergeist like Peeves.

"Not a glamorous apprenticeship, but I suppose it'll pay off in the end. I hope."

"He may be hard to deal with," said Lupin as he drew his wand, "but he knows what he's doing. I can't remember a time when he was agreeable."

Eleanor nodded, "What is in there, exactly?"

The wardrobe began to creak and rock on worn wooden feet. For a moment, the whole thing nearly toppled over, swaying violently and landing with a crash back upright.

"A boggart," he said precisely, smoothing a crease in his faded pants.

"Really?" Eleanor's face lit up, "Never seen one before. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were never that exciting. Could I…give it a try?"

"Be my guest, Miss Bristow," Lupin smiled and stepped aside.

"Eleanor, please," she said as she swished her wand in the air. The latch of the wardrobe clicked open.

Both Lupin and Eleanor were shocked to see what came walked out. Eleanor stood looking at a mirror image of herself. She raised her hand, and the twin in front of her did the same. The same robes, the same freckles, the same long red hair, and the same gold eyes - the boggart had simply become her.

Lupin stood looking as puzzled as she was.

Eleanor was struggling to think of something amusing for her boggart twin to do or become. "What were you planning on doing with it?"

"Getting it into that trunk there," Lupin pointed to a large black trunk beside the gramophone.

Eleanor walked towards it, and the boggart followed her, gold eyes locked upon her. She sat on the edge of the open trunk and her twin mimicked her. Upon a closer glance, she could see a faint distortion in the fair skin. It appeared as though scales were growing in place of skin along her knees and elbows. Gazing closer at her face revealed a deeply sad expression; her eyes were rimmed by dark shadows like bruises bright against the paleness of her face. The rash unnerved Eleanor upon recognizing what it resembled. Quickly she shoved her twin into the trunk and slammed the top upon it.

"Strange," she remarked.

"Very," Lupin said, studying her closely with narrowed eyes.

"Well, it wasn't what I expected," she said, forcing a smile. "I best be getting back. Lots to do."

Lupin nodded, "Thank you, for the charts."

Eleanor hurried off, her mind swimming. Afraid of herself? She had never heard of such a thing, and she definitely wasn't afraid of herself. But the scales...

Never had she longed for a run in the forest more that term, and she decided to go once it got dark.

The smells of the night air, the trees, the plants made her feel alive. The breeze was crisp and the path was well lit from the waxing gibbous moon overhead. The crunching of the twigs and leaves underfoot was the only sounds she heard. The creatures of the forest didn't bother her if she stuck to the makeshift trails nearest the edge of the Forbidden Forest. How frightening the place had been when she first started Hogwarts, yet now it seemed harmless. She could hear the occasional growl or moan out from the depths of the trees, but she kept her distance and ran around the edges of the Black Lake and back. At last she grew too tired to continue, but felt much better with her muscles tingling and her blood pumping.

She snuck back into the castle and made her way down the labyrinth of corridors, trying to remember which tapestry was the one covering her door and hoping she didn't miscounted the number of shifting staircases she had taken. She heard footsteps nearby as she turned a corner, and stopped to see whom it was wandering about at this late hour. She recognized his scent before she saw him, his face lit up by wandlight. _Snape_.

He stopped at the storeroom and pulled open the doors. The candles in the little room jumped to life as he rummaged through the lines of sorted ingredients, his fingers stretched as though he could feel what he was looking for. Eleanor peeked around the doorway to see what it was he was taking, perhaps giving a clue to what he was using them for. But Snape had already found it, and was sliding down the ladder when he abruptly froze on the spot.

Her heart jumped to her throat. Suddenly, standing still wasn't still enough.

* * *

><p>With ingredients pocketed safely, he closed the storeroom doors and took off after the strange thing he had glimpsed in the dark. A flash of orange. He couldn't hear its footsteps, but snippets of orange fell into the circle of wandlight he held before him. He chased it to a corner, where he sent a stunning spell in the creature's direction. It hit, resulting in a little squeak, and he rushed forward to grab it.<p>

In his hands he clutched a writhing red fox. It squeaked and barked as it squirmed in its grasp, but not once did it try to scratch or bite. Snape stared at the animal, perplexed by how improbable it was to find a fox so deep into the castle. Possibly a prank, he thought before he noticed something peculiar. The fox's eyes were gold. it struck him odd-as foxes he had seen always had brown eyes-until he began to recognize the familiar shade he had seen only hours ago.

He threw down the creature as he cast a spell to force the creature out of its form. With a bright blue and white flash, he saw the fox morph into a tiny sparrow. The bird fluttered about in the air for a moment in a panic before falling to the ground into a larger figure.

Snape stood aghast, staring down where the sparrow had been finding a redheaded woman lying on her back in a short nightgown and bare feet. Eleanor blinked, recovering from the forced change slowly. She sat up, eyes adjusting to the strange mix of light before Snape's raised wand.

Horrified, she stared up at him with her mouth hanging open, too frightened to speak.

"Up," he said quietly, stunned. "Get up."

She rose to her feet.

"Go," he gestured. "My office."

"P-professor-…"

"_Now_."

Eleanor led the way to the dungeons with Snape's wand digging into her back. At last she stood in the center of his room, surrounded by a growing collection of picked oddities, while he circled her slowly studying her with shining black eyes.

"Professor please, I can explain-…" she said meekly.

"You," he said flatly, still trying to absorb what he had just seen, "are an Animagus."

"…Y-y-yes."

"Are you registered?"

Fear shot through her heart, she couldn't tell him the truth, so she stood there silently.

Snape leaned in, inches from her face. "Are you registered?" he repeated, almost spitting in her face.

"…Professor, I…. I…"

Eleanor felt him jab his wand into her stomach.

"…N-n-no…"

The office was horribly cold, especially on Eleanor's bare feet. She shivered in her short silk nightgown as Snape stared at her bitterly.

"Show me."

"What?" she asked, teeth chattering.

"Show me," he repeated.

Slowly, she sank to her hands and knees, the cold stone stinging her palms. She melted into a red fox and sat, looking up at him calmly. Her fur was much warmer than her nightgown, and her paw pads could stand the cold floor. Snape, stoicly studied the creature for a minute or two before waving for her to change back, which she did so reluctantly.

"I saw something else. A bird."

Eleanor looked up at him guiltily, eyes trailing nervously to his raised wand before shifting into the form of a sparrow again, fluttering to rest on his desktop. Snape looked closely at the little bird, seeing its eyes were also gold, unusual for the bird but identical to the girl's. Changing back, Eleanor wished she had brought her wand to light a fire in the room. Her hands and feet were going numb.

"You can change into _two_ animals?" he asked her, stunned.

"Well," she shifted uncomfortably and shivered.

Snape remembered the note he had seen in the library and in her notebook all those years ago. The number three popped into his head again.

"Is there… another?"

The look on her face told him he had hit the nail on the head.

"It's… dangerous." Eleanor said, fearing her toes would fall off.

"How?" Snape narrowed his eyes.

"I will explain if you light a fire," she pleaded, nodding to the fireplace. "It's positively _freezing_ in here."

"I will if you show me."

Eleanor fidgeted, dying for some warmth. He was toying with her. "This room is too small."

"What do you mean?"

She was digging her own grave. "Well, it might be too small to show you."

"Do it," Snape hissed.

Eleanor felt as though she had given him fair warning, although she was apprehensive to show him. His raised wand pushed her into it, and she was hoping Dumbledore would help clear the situation up as soon as she could get out of sight. Or a well-aimed memory charm would do. Her body began to grow and her skin changed painfully into scales. Snape backed away, eyes widening in alarm as his office began to get swallowed up by Eleanor's changing form. Soon, he looked up and could see a petite Hungarian Horntail - or something of that sort, Severus was by no means an expert - sitting before him, its tail brushing against his desk pushing papers onto the floor. The dragon's great head turned to him, and its eyes… They were gold.

"Change back!" he called, and breathed a sigh of relief once the girl was harmless and shivering again.

"Please… the fire…" she begged. Her fingers trailed over her arms as though they were in pain.

Snape was too bewildered to move. This girl was able to change into three different animals at will, an astonishing discovery. Slowly, as his legs began to respond again, he lit a fire and lowered himself into a chair.

"How long have you been able to do that?"

"Since school. Dumbledore tried helping me with it, since the changes tend to hurt sometimes. Well, _all_ of the time with the last one. It was my... special project."

Eleanor fled to the fireplace to warm up, eagerly holding her hands dangerously close to the dancing flames. Moments passed while she visibly relaxed and turned to speak again.

"He tried helping me learn to fly, which I got pretty quickly by some miracle. And, Professor Dumbledore thought it would be interesting to see if I could breathe fire when I could stand being a dragon for longer than a few minutes. But I never really got that down. Not even close. I can't stay like that for long - it's _really_ painful - and I ended up trying to make fire the same time I was forced back to normal." She rubbed her neck unconsciously.

"The burn relieving solution…" Snape muttered, his eyes shining as he processed what she had told him. The speed of his recollection began to unnerve on her.

Eleanor looked to him, wide eyed with fear. "Oh, please don't tell anyone! _Please_! I don't want to go to Azkaban! I was too scared to register and even Dumbledore discouraged it…"

Snape was quiet.

"Please!" she grabbed his hand, making him jump. "Please don't tell anyone! Swear! I mean it! I'll do anything!"

Snape glanced at her, those golden eyes fixed upon him like burning embers. An upsetting combination with that hair of hers.

"Fine," he whispered, his mouth feeling very disjoined from the rest of him.

"Oh, thank you," she said, relief washing over her features, readily trusting his word. _Stupid girl_. She squeezed his hand before jumping to her feet. "I'll be more careful."

Snape sat with the phantom feeling of her hand on his beside the warm fire. It had been a while since he let himself enjoy a fire in his office. Eleanor's ability burned in his mind fiercely. Not just one but _three_ animal forms; what a feat to accomplish. It was something he could see no one else mentoring but Dumbledore. Yet it was such a foolhardy thing to encourage. Minerva could just as easily helped the girl, but her iron-clad values would have snuffed out any instance of stretching beyond the initial form. Keeping herself unregistered was a dangerous idea, but he could understand now why Dumbledore probably supported the option. Minerva would have lost her mind at the idea. There was no telling what would happen if word got out about such a thing. It was not the first case of multi-animorphism, and in the past each one had been disastrous in its own way. It was brutally damaging to one's magic if not fully accepted, and her mention of discomfort, pain, while using it was a terrible symptom of intolerant magic.

He closed his hand and held it there, staring at his fingers in the firelight. That feeling still lingered on his skin.


	15. Errands

In the middle of her breakfast, Snape interrupted Eleanor with a scroll dropped unceremoniously on her toast.

"What is this?" she asked sourly, still angry about the incident the other day concerning the first year class and a botched lesson on Pepper-Up Potion that left her scrubbing the dungeon floors all weekend by hand. Eleanor watched Snape's dark eyes survey her warily as she unrolled the neat parchment after wiping a bit of marmalade from the edges.

"That," Snape said sharply, "is a list of things I require. The storeroom is low and as I am otherwise occupied, you are going to get them. Be precise. I accept no substitutes."

"But this is your job," she said shoving the paper back at him. Buying supplies was something he did not trust her with; he had made it very clear at the beginning of the year after berating her for her "insufficient footwear" during classroom observations.

_"I teach potions to idiots," he had_ told_ her. "Unless you have no desire to keep your lower extremities, you should invest in a proper apron and dragonhide boots of sound quality."_

He leaned down, glaring in her face with the intensity he usually reserved for Longbottom or Potter, "Correction: You are the assistant, and I am the potions master here. You listen to me and do what I ask, or you can find another potions master to learn from. I am under no obligation to see that you remain here if your work and _attitude_ prove insufficient for your post. As Dumbledore said, what I say goes, and I say get moving."

She clenched the paper tightly in her hand and stood to leave, glowering at him with all of the ire she dared muster. She knew better than to object much to his demands, with the dirt he had on her. Besides, he was right after all. As soon as she left the Great Hall, she kicked a wall out of frustration. It hurt. BAD. But boy did it help burn off her desire to hex the man, and scared off a couple of first years saving her the trouble to shooing them out of her way.

"Stupid, arrogant, lazy-…" she muttered, viciously clasping her cloak about her shoulders.

The group leaving for Hogsmeade was just ahead of her, fluttering with unbridled excitement. She followed them down the well-worn, uneven path while glancing over her list. "Mint sprigs, wormwood, shrivelfigs, boomslang skin, porcupine quills, aconite, unicorn hair…" She sighed in exasperation. The list was nearly fifty items long. It would be a miracle if she could find all of those things in one trip, let alone find a shop with enough in stock. She didn't remember Hogmeade boasting large inventories of anything besides chocolate.

Making her way to the apothecary shop, she watched the students flock to Honeyduke's. _Perhaps_, she thought, _a visit to that shop would do some good_. She slipped into the apothecary's shop instead, the old rusted bell attached to the door ring obnoxiously overhead.

"Yes, may I help you?" asked an old man appearing behind the counter. His beard dragged along the tops of pre-measured bags of herbs that surrounded the register.

"Well, I have quite the list," she said sheepishly. Her boot snagged her cloak as she inched her way over to him and handed over Snape's sprawling inventory.

"Let's have a look... Merlin's beard, that _is_ some list!"

"Sorry." Her arms prickled nervously. Perhaps it had been Snape's intent for her to trounce about Hogsmeade making a fool of herself.

"Not at all, not at all. I certainly hope we have everything for you." He began scooping up bags of things from the walls of wooden drawers, creating quite the stack in no time at all. The way he snapped the brown paper bags open, with none of the arthritic stiffness he displayed when shuffling the ladder over a few rows, gave Eleanor the impression he had seen something like this before. She wandered around the store, studying the bins of dried lavender and lacewing flies and the half-frozen jars nearly overflowing with Ashwinder eggs. She wondered for a moment what would happen if she accidentally dropped some euphoria elixir into Snape's goblet at breakfast. She grinned to herself, imaging a smiling, tipsy Snape trying to teach classes or attend a staff meeting.

The shop was old and dark, and the smell varied as she passed different assortments of materials. The dried plants had a strong herbal musk, a familiar smell, while the table filled with animal parts stunk of delayed decay. She wrinkled her nose and wandered back towards the plant section, eyeing a bin full of asphodel that looked about ready to tip over.

"Out of curiously, Miss, is this all for you?" asked the storekeeper, still hard at work weighing a bundle of horse bones with startling precision.

"No, not at all. It's for the school," she replied, discreetly righting the teetering drawer with her elbow.

"Ah. You mean to tell me they've finally replaced that horribly sour young man?"

Eleanor stifled a laugh, "No sir, he is still there. I am apprenticing at Hogwarts for potions."

"Must be good if Dumbledore's got you there," he winked.

"I can only hope," she said. "I'm stuck learning from the horribly sour young man."

With a chuckle, the man finished rounding up Snape's impossible list into a concise, if sprawling, pile of brown paper bags and clean glass jars. Thankfully, _miraculously_, everything was in stock. She had caught the man on a stocking day. She paid the man gratefully before he asked, "As a matter of interest, how are you going to get all of this to the school?"

Her heart sank, she hadn't thought of that. She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand and buried her face in her scarf. Ordinarily, she could Apparate with her goods, but she couldn't get anywhere near the castle like that. She couldn't possibly carry all of that, and she hated the thought of floating everything behind her. Then it hit her, " Do you have a fireplace?"

"Of course, Miss, in the back."

"And you wouldn't by any chance have Floo powder would you?"

The old man grinned through his salt and pepper beard. "We better get started shall we?"

They moved all of the bags to the back room, where Eleanor grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace with a couple bags in hand.

"Potions office, Hogwarts!" Eleanor threw down the powder and disappeared into a burst of green flame.

The sound of the fireplace roaring to life made Snape jump. He looked at the mantle to see Eleanor, smiling, emerge from green flames. She dropped the heavy bags onto his desk with a satisfied smirk.

"What is this?" he demanded, his brows crashing together as he shoved his stacks of ungraded parchment out of the way.

"Your order. And you better stay put, there's more on the way," she said as the fireplace spat out bags of ingredients.

After the final bag came through, there was silence in Snape's office. He looked at her, flabbergasted in his own subdued way. Eleanor grinned and turned out of the office before Snape had the chance to order her to put everything away for him.

He caught up.


	16. Werewolf

"Miss Bristow, take this to Professor Lupin. Promptly. It is quite important that he gets it," said Snape, setting a laden tray down upon her worktable.

"What is it," asked Eleanor as she studied the strange liquid within the flask perched in the center.

"If you really want to apprentice here, you do what I ask," Snape said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Without asking questions. I can only tolerate your impertinence so much in an evening."

Eleanor noticed the faint blue smoke rising from the flask, "Is this… is this Wolfsbane potion?"

Snape stared at her for a moment, silent as he pressed his thin lips together into a tight line. She had identified that brew much quicker than he had anticipated. She wasn't as thick-headed as he was led to believe. She looked uncomfortable, even a little fearful as she closed the flask and held it gingerly in her hands.

"I have asked you to take that to Professor Lupin. Why are you still standing here?"

"What would he need with-..." Snape watched the subtle changes in her face as she began to connect the scant pieces. The cold mask of realization settled over her features far sooner than expected. He had hoped she would he halfway up to the Defense classroom by now. But she was a Ravenclaw, after all. If only the sheep Lupin preached to would come to the same blatant conclusion.

"The lunar phase. Is he…is he a werewolf?"

Snape's silence seemed to answer her question. She threw the flask down onto the worktable as though it were on fire.

"Take it," he hissed.

"What if I get bitten?"

"You're an Animagus. You have nothing to worry about, especially if you deliver that potion _immediately_."

Eleanor looked at him in disbelief, "But-… But there was nothing like this is my workplace hazards forms. I don't think I should -"

"Either go, or forget your studies here!" Snape shot a harsh look at her that made her snatch up the tray with the Wolfsbane potion and head for the door at once. She heard him leave behind her, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor before heavy footsteps drifted away.

The castle was buzzing as a handful of staff rushed about searching the castle for the intruder that attacked the portrait of the Fat Lady. Ella, having been trapped in the dungeons for most of the evening, had only discovered what had happened by overhearing the house elf who had delivered the news to Snape in the other room not long ago. Gryffindors were filing down to the Great Hall with only a handful of their things, getting ready to sleep in their makeshift beds. The idea of a killer loose in the castle made goosebumps rise on her arms, but with such practiced hands keeping guard she knew things would turn out well. _Probably_. In fact, word was whoever slashed the portrait was long gone. _Maybe_. How that man got inside in the first place was a more horrifying thing to imagine. Could someone have let him in? Hogwarts was too protected for someone unwelcome to saunter in unnoticed, especially a wizard with ill intents. There were supposed to be charms for that...

Ella had to force her legs to move as she crossed the dark DADA classroom. The large dragon skeleton loomed overhead, far larger in appearance in the dark. The room was very quiet, except for faint music coming from the glowing office at the top of the stairs she was slowly climbing. Her heart began to pound as she stood before his door, tray rattling as her hands trembled. What if Lupin was not alone in there? Or, worse yet, what if the werewolf had been the one to tear the portrait into ribbons in an effort to get to the students behind it? She knocked softly.

"Enter," called Professor Lupin.

She pushed open the door, glad to hear a human voice on the other side, and found him sitting at his desk grading papers with a half drunk cup of cold tea. He looked surprised to see her.

"Miss Bristow," he said gently, "what can I do for you?"

"Professor Snape… he asked me to bring you this," she set the tray down before him carefully.

Lupin narrowed his eyes at her. "He did, did he?"

She nodded, wringing her hands. She was having a hard time placing the serene man who sat beside her at dinner and chatted idly about doxies and Quidditch scores with the image of a werewolf, prowling for blood and shredding portraits. Quickly, Lupin poured the drink into the cup on the tray and downed it with a disgusted look on his face. "Worst drink in the world," he chuckled bitterly.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up at her questioningly.

"For it tasting so bad," she said. "It's…it's Wolfsbane potion isn't it?"

Lupin sighed loudly as he nervously tapped his fingers on the desk before nodding. His unkempt hair swung in front of his eyes and his expression darkened for a moment. "Snape told you, did he?"

Eleanor shook her head, "I guessed. From looking at the potion, that is. And I'm not frightened of you, only…"

"When I change?"

"I've never seen a werewolf before." She could have kicked herself for the stupidity of that statement. "P-Perhaps that is lucky? I mean-... um..."

"Very lucky."

Eleanor collected the tray as Lupin stared out the window, moonlight threading through thin clouds falling on his wary face.

"Thank him for me," said Lupin, slowly turning back to her with a calm smile. "Severus."

"I will." _This wasn't so bad_, she thought. He was just as kind and normal as always. The same person who had been an encouraging accomplice on her walks around the lake at the edge of the Forest. Her fingers began to relax a little, uncurling from the edges of the tray as she moved to the door. The only thing wrong was her own bumbling behavior. She could only imagine how she was making the poor man feel.

"And Miss Bristow? I-…"

The pause in his voice caused her to turn around and drop the tray in horror. Lupin's legs and arms began to lengthen, his face morphed into a snout, and fur began to pop up in horrible, uneven patches all over like the effects of a botched Polyjuice potion. She screamed, hands shaking wildly as they fumbled for the latch on the office door. He stood much taller now, and snarled as he looked down at her. Heart in her throat, she watched as Lupin shook his head violently, distracted by something in the far corner of the office, and took the pause to quickly morph into a fox in self-defense. She barked at him in alarm as it stepped closer, warily noting the change of company. Then, the creature sank onto all fours, looking quite tame before it turned and curled up under Lupin's desk, where it remained silent and still for two dozen clicks of Lupin's odd clock.

Slowly, Eleanor backed towards the door and morphed back into a human, grabbing the fallen tray and throwing open the door in a flurry of clumsy moves. She slammed it behind her, leaving it sealed and warded with spells a human Lupin could easily lift, and fled to the dungeons with her heart pounding so hard it was a wonder it had not burst somewhere on the stairs. Dashing into the potions room, Eleanor threw the tray and its contents onto a nearby desk and sank into the closest chair before dissolving into a fit of tears and hysteric sobs.

She had never been more scared in her life. She felt awful for leaving in such a manner, and pitied Lupin for having such an atrocious affliction, and for making him feel all the worse with her suspicion and dramatic exit. The poor man had been doing that for some time, she was sure, his face and actions certainly reflected that. His battered appearance made a terrible amount of sense now and her stomach clenched. Behind her, Snape's office door creaked open. Eleanor bit her finger as she tried to control herself and calm down, shaking violently still as slow footsteps came up behind her.

"Why is this on the floor?" asked Snape coldly as he picked up the tray and its contents.

Eleanor was silent, bitting harder to suppress the sound of her breath hitching.

"Clean this up, and next time, don't leave a mess."

She shot to her feet, suddenly furious, "_You_ clean it! Do you have any idea what you made me do? Have you even seen him like that?"

Snape was silent, his black eyes narrowed into slits. There was a heaviness to his shoulders that she had rarely seen, hinting to some unnamable emotion roiling in his calculating black eyes. His hand twitched at his side.

"I am NEVER doing that again!"

"Then you will be responsible for a mindless monster running around the castle biting every student he sees."

"No, YOU will be responsible. YOU are the one who is making Wolfsbane for him, so it's YOUR job to deliver it. Not mine! And I am NOT cleaning that up!"

"You will, or you can pack your things and go. Or perhaps I shall send an owl to the Ministry's registration office in the morning."

Eleanor's chest heaved as she stood there fuming with her fists clenched. Snape watched her wipe the tears on her cheeks on the frayed sleeve of her sweater, shaking visibly. Long strands of red fell in her face as she dutifully and expectedly relented. He hated her hair.

Eleanor stomped over, snatched the tray up from his fingers with undisguised contempt and marched over to the sink.

"The cauldron as well," said Snape flatly before he disappeared into his office.

She chucked the sponge at his door. It exploded into a cloud of dirty water with a loud _squelch_.


	17. The Daily Prophets

Eleanor trudged into the dungeons, eyes ringed red from lack of sleep. Nightmares of werewolves kept her up all night, having woken sometime early in the morning swearing she felt a bite and could see a mark on her arm. She felt as horrible as she looked. Her hair was all frizzy, her brush had been unable to tame it after it consumed a hairband sometime during the night. Today, she hoped Snape would send her somewhere quiet to do some stupid, time consuming task just to hide her face, and possibly sneak in a nap. Sorting ingredients presented a perfect opportunity.

Snape appeared as if on cue, staring at her lack of posture and makeup with disdain. His face, for an instant, really did show how bad she looked, a very disheartening sign she should have put on some Tabitha's cover-all over her eyelids.

"I need you to teach classes today," he said.

"What," she asked, perking up slightly.

He grimaced slightly at her flaming orb of frizz that should as if it were alive, "Lupin is indisposed today, and Dumbledore has requested that I fill in. I need you to teach my classes that fall at the same time. I have left a list of instructions there," he nodded to the desk at the front of the room. "Do not deviate from them. They should be simple enough for you to understand."

She frowned, feeling insulted. Of all days, today she had to get a great chance to stand in front of a large group of students while she looked as though something had chewed her up and spit her out without a hint of finesse.

"Yes, sir."

"I will be back later," he said, shoving past.

"Of course, sir."

The instant Snape was gone she dashed into his office. Surely the man had a mirror somewhere. The more she snuck around, the less luck she was having finding anything reflective. The creepy collection on the walls made her skin crawl. She could have sworn little eyes were watching her as she moved past.

Eleanor could find nothing to use to check her appearance. "_Accio_ mirror!" Nothing came. There wasn't even a fire in the fireplace. She quickly changed that, relishing the warmth it brought to the drafty room.

"Perhaps in his desk…" She cautiously approached it, having second thoughts. She didn't want to snoop, but she didn't feel like standing in front of a bunch of kids looking like a troll's ugly cousin. Her hand slowly wrapped itself around the handle of a drawer. Perhaps he didn't have a mirror, it would explain why his hair looked such a mess towards the end of the day. The lack of anything shiny was rather odd. The other classrooms and offices had something reflective. Why would Snape stray from having such a thing?

The drawer clicked open and her heart fluttered nervously. Gingerly, she picked around a stack of parchment and confiscated little items that hummed and smoked slightly. A Fanged Frisbee nearly took a chunk out of her knuckles. Her fingers pressed into something crinkly after fending off the charmed toy, though it still growled at her from the darkest corner of the drawer. She pulled out what she could, revealing a Daily Prophet from a year ago. She glanced at the headlines until her eyes locked upon one tiny article in the sports section. It was a little blurb about her retirement from professional Quidditch. There was a tiny little mark beside the title that looked added, by a quill it seemed.

Setting the paper down she noticed there was a small stack below where the first had been. One of them, dated August 1990, had a large picture of the Welsh National Team, all smiling in dragon emblazoned uniforms after their cup win with her and Thomas in the front. Again she found that little tick mark. Another paper, from their previous cup win with the mark, and another about the Holyhead Harpies. There were several, all with that funny little mark only by the pictures and headlines she was featured in. Aside from being surprised by the number she had been in, Eleanor wondered why on Earth Snape of all people would have a stack of these old things sitting in his desk.

There were more, all clipped to bare articles about the movements of You-Know-Who's remaining followers, Death Eater trials, and Azkaban sentences. The paper at the very bottom of the drawer was different. It seemed it only consisted of two sheets, each from a different year. The tick marks were beside two little announcements and photos. One was a marriage announcement with a smiling couple. The man wore glasses and sported messy hair rather like her friend Thomas, and the woman, a pretty creature, had long hair and glittering eyes. She was lovely, Eleanor thought before checking the names: _James Potter and Lily Evans announce their marriage…_

Lily?

Eleanor checked the other page, another announcements insert with the same couple, grinning while they held a little baby boy.

_James and Lily Potter of Godric's Hollow announce the birth of their first son, Harry James Potter…_

Eleanor quickly replaced all of the papers the best she could in the drawer. Her mind was trying to work through the mess of information she had just seen. Students were gathering in the classroom, their voices drifted in from behind the old wooden door. Snapping back to the present, Ella hastily tried to smooth down her hair and straighten her robes before entering the classroom.

"Please take your seats, everyone," she called politely.

Everyone's eyes were on her, confusion visible on every face.

Eleanor could feel her knees knocking nervously, "Today I will be leading class. For those of you who do not know me, you may call me Miss Bristow."

"Miss Whatever," chuckled a Slytherin boy, "where's our _real_ teacher?"

Eleanor glared at the kid, he reminded her of a dark haired Antony. "As I said, I am leading the class today. Please open your books to page thirty five and began brewing the-…"

The boy blew a raspberry and laughed with his tablemates. The girls in the row ahead shot them dirty looks and scooted their chairs away as they pulled eel eyes from their hair.

"Five points from Slytherin," said Eleanor, her chest burning with anger.

"What? We didn't do nothin'!"

"Please quiet down, listen, and get your work done or you'll lose another five for wasting my time," Eleanor said flatly. Trying to imitate Snape seemed to be the only way of keeping the brat's attention. His table quieted down, glowering suspiciously as they started chopping morels.

Three classes, two singed eyebrows, and four whining brats later, Eleanor had newfound respect for Severus and his intimidating tactics.


	18. Mistletoe

Christmastime was near, and the snow outside the castle piled high in whimsical drifts. Eleanor decided to follow along with the students on their trip to Hogsmeade for the day, dying to grab a bag of sweets from Honeydukes and a warm drink from the Three Broomsticks. She fastened her forest green cloak around her shoulders on her way out when a lone owl fluttered overhead, brushing her pinned up hair with its tail feathers. She shrieked and shut her eyes, flailing her arms over her head protectively. Slowly, she lowered her arms when she saw the owl was gone and hastily fixed her clothes. She felt someone's gaze on her back and turned to see Lupin watching her pensively.

Embarrassment burning in her cheeks, she muttered, "I don't like owls. Well, they're pretty enough, but I don't like them near me."

"Ah," his face was unchanged. That damnable smile of his growing wider the longer she fumbled with her scarf.

Her eyes trailed to his walking cane, "Are you going to Hogsmeade, too?"

"I was just going to walk about here. I don't feel up to going that far."

She nodded, fixing the clasp of her cloak several times with nervous fingers. _Snap, unsnap, snap._

"That was you in the wood when I was talking to Harry some time ago wasn't it?"

Eleanor's nervousness escaladed to new heights, and the clasp of her cloak nearly popped right off. She remembered passing by the two on one of her secret strolls through the forest. Lupin seemed to have spotted her once or twice but said nothing until now. Eleanor had figured her appearance was unremarkable. Her promise to Snape was mocking her.

Ella nodded, feeling a little comfort in his knowing. As a werewolf, he was more adept to privacy, she figured. But the number of wizards who knew her _little secret_ had tripled since she had started her new post. Two more than she had ever planned on. Without her regular Quidditch practices and weekly trips to the pub with her group of friends to occupy her time, she was spending far too much time digging up old magic she had buried when she graduated. It was dangerous - but the pale green eyes fixed so serenely on her now as she crunched snow loudly underfoot gave her the impression she had not triggered her undoing quite yet. If anyone were to rat her out, it would be Snape.

"You remember from-…"

"From my office, yes. Thanks to that potion I could remember your visit."

"I-I'm so sorry for running out," she stammered, embarrassment flushing her cheeks as she remembered her frantic exit.

Lupin shook his head and hobbled out into the snow, leaning heavily on his cane. "You did better than most."

"Hardly," she said, feeling a bit disgusted with herself. The snow squeaked against her boot as she smashed down a small drift.

"How long have you been an animagus?"

"You're not going to tell on me are you?"

Lupin chuckled, "We're not schoolchildren, of course I won't."

"Since my third year here. Ever since I saw Professor McGonagall do it in our Transfiguration class, I wanted to so badly. I spent summers in the woods practicing."

"It's quite an achievement."

"I don't feel like it is. Feels more like I'm hiding, like I've done something wrong. Especially since… well since I'm unregistered. I talked to Dumbledore about it, but he thinks it's best to stay this way. Still, it makes me nervous…"

"So Dumbledore knows," said Lupin.

"And Professor Snape," she said quickly and, upon seeing the look on his face, added, "it was unintentional."

"That's why he's started to send you on _certain nights_, is it?"

"I suppose he thinks since I can change when you do, there's no risk for me."

"How considerate of him," Lupin said flatly, a mischievous smile still on his lips.

They started to walk slowly towards the path to Hogsmeade. Snow fell in large spiraling flakes, sticking to their cloaks and melting when it touched their hair. Eleanor felt her nose grow numb, and her feet were chilled despite being wrapped up in two pairs of socks and those silly dragonhide boots.

"You know, sometimes I'm worried I'm wasting my time here," said Eleanor, her eyes fixed on the falling flakes. "Professor Snape only has me doing meaningless tasks, stuff meant for a house elf, or students with detention. I felt like studying here would, well bring something meaningful. Dumbledore advertised it that way."

"What do you mean?" Lupin gazed down at her as he hobbled along.

"I don't know. I mean, I felt like when I apprenticed here, sure I'd be doing things to help out, but also stuff that challenged me. I'd be doing something that I could pour everything into; something useful, meaningful. Lately it seems he doesn't have the time to teach me anything new and well, my experiments haven't gone so well yet."

"The life of a teaching assistant not as grand and glamorous as it would appear. Perhaps that will change after the holidays," Lupin said gently as he patted her shoulder. "I'll be turning back now. Good to see you, Eleanor."

"And you," she waved as he limped back towards the grounds.

Eleanor quickly made a beeline for the pub and ordered a firewhiskey to put some warmth back into her frozen fingers. She loved the snow, but hated the way it melted on her hair and cheeks and then froze up again and _stung_. The first sip of the drink sent a wave of heat down her throat all the way to her toes. She didn't care for the taste, but the warm, cozy feeling it left was worth it. The cloyingly sweet butterbeers that clinked in dozens of frosty mugs around her couldn't quite compare, and they didn't conjure up warm memories of spending an evening snowed in with someone like firewhiskey did. Nor did it make her lose track of time quite like firewhiskey could.

Glancing around, Ella didn't see anything unusual. Older wizards were in today, all bent over their glasses and mugs with tired faces. Students had already blown through, gulping butterbeers in pairs before running to Honeydukes and Zonko's. As she skimmed the room, her eyes locked upon one messy haired visitor across the room. He sat at a table of three girls, with another bloke balancing precariously on a rickety stool on the end, fidgeting with his glasses in very familiar way. A chill ran down her spine when she recognized them all.

"Thomas?" Eleanor asked as she walked up to them apprehensively, "Thomas, is that you?"

"Ella!" they all cried in unison as Thomas stood and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He smelled like home, wearing that same, awful navy sweater he broke out on particularly chilly days.

"Dearest Ella, you haven't written enough," he said, "sit down with us!"

She grinned and slid into the booth beside him. "It's wonderful to see you all! What are you doing here?"

"Well, besides visiting Millie's aunt, we've come to pay you a little visit," said Francine. The excited blonde bounced in her seat across the table, much to the irritation of the witch crammed up against her.

"We need you to play," deadpanned Gwenog. She took a long drink and slammed the glass on the table.

"Ugh, Gwennie you've spoiled the surprise!" Fran scolded her and pushed her long hair behind her ears. "Truth, we need you Ella. The Harpies have gone so far in the League, and Wilda's gone and gotten herself hurt just before our big game."

"We're not playing you, are we Thomas?" Eleanor asked him. "If you can believe it, I haven't been following like I should."

He grinned, "No, Puddlemere United, not us Catapults."

"Goodness, guys, I'm _retired_. I can't just jump back into this," Eleanor sighed.

"But we need you! We don't have time for a sub," whined Fran, giving Ella a pleading look.

"I have a job," she reminded them.

"She has a point," said Thomas.

"Tell them it's your birthday present," grinned Sean, the other boy at the table, a beater for the Catapults. The old stool creaked as he balanced it back on one leg. _Pushing his luck like always._

"Do you even know what the man I work for is like? Asking off would be like asking to chop off his head," Eleanor said before finishing her fire whiskey in one large gulp. It stung all the way down her throat.

"Maybe you should," laughed Sean.

"Oh shut it, Sean," Gwenog elbowed him sharply, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor.

Mathalda, her icy blue eyes darting up from her drink with foam still perched on her magenta lips, "Oh God, just do it, Ella. You can't be that out of shape."

"If you guys lose the cup, it won't be my fault for not warning you," said Ella.

"So you'll do it?" Fran nearly knocked the table over when she jumped to her feet. Everyone's glasses jumped and clinked, earning them a sharp remark from the bartender.

"I'll consider it."

"Let us know soon," said Gwenog. "We can't be waiting on you forever, Ella."

"Boy, isn't that the truth," complained Thomas, inspiring them all to grin.

The group filed out of the pub, consumed with raucous laughter as they tottered down the snowy street en masse. Somehow, it didn't seem so cold out, despite the fat flakes lazily floating about.

"Oh, oh _please_ can we go to Honeydukes?" Fran bumped into Gwenog and Sean. "I need something to snack on after dinner. Millie's aunt can't cook worth a b-…"

"Fine, fine. C'mon, you," said Gwenog, pulling Fran's head into the crook of her elbow with a grin.

"Oh look! Look!" Fran, still twisted in Gwenog's arms, pointed above Thomas and Eleanor, where a bit of mistletoe was tied up on a sign. "C'mon then, give us a kiss!"

"Oh _please_," whined Gwenog. "Haven't we all seen that enough?"

"You're just sour because you're not standing there by Sean," grinned Frannie.

"Shut it, Fran!"

"C'mon you two!" Fran giggled, slapping her palms together with her lips puckered. "Can't break tradition now!"

Eleanor laughed and shook her head, she and Thomas hadn't dated for some time. Officially, at least. The whole affair was still... complicated. But she knew what was coming when he grinned at her in that peculiar way before he leaned in and snogged her fervently, making Ella's cheeks turn bright red. Their friends roared childishly, attracting the attention of a handful of Hogwarts students and Professor McGonagall, who was leaving the pub with her tartan winter cloak pulled tight. She pursed her lips disapprovingly before a whisper of a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, _Merlin_, Thomas, you're going to get me sacked!" Ella smacked him lightly on the chest.

He gave her another affectionate hug, "That's fine. Maybe you'll come back to Quidditch permanently then! Eh?"

They walked with their arms linked towards Honeydukes, its windows glittering and spilling yellow light out onto the snow. She had forgotten how much fun they had together, her only real friends. As much as she wished she could run back to that life, she knew she couldn't. Guilt wouldn't let her. And they would never leave it.


	19. Bloody Owls

"You're still here?" murmured a cold, low voice.

Eleanor turned around from her bubbling cauldron to see Snape looking down at her, arms folded neatly across his chest.

"Well, I don't really have anywhere to go," she said, turning back to her work.

She dumped a vial of purplish liquid into the mixture, a newly made tincture of bitterroot and Billywig stings, which hissed and steamed until the cauldron was filled with a slow-bubbling, greenish sludge. She had planned on spending her holiday experimenting on her own, but she hadn't planned on her mentor remaining at the school too. He had been lurking about his office as the students dwindled away to their homes, snugly tucked in their train compartments. Not much had changed about Snape's habits. He did not return to his home for Christmas her seventh year either, although the only reason she knew this was from overhearing McGonagall mentioning her disdain to Flitwick as they passed her in the hall after the second term welcoming feast. She could now see why the woman had been so peeved.

"Don't you have family?" he asked harshly.

"Actually, no. My parents are both dead, and I don't see my extended family much."

Eleanor's response took him off guard, being so matter-of-factly and devoid of warmth. It was reminiscent of her behavior following her father's death the year he had her in class. Snape should have remembered that, but the words had come out almost unbidden. Dumbledore's quiet warning the day so many years ago when he had coaxed himself into visiting the hospital wing rang in his ears. He could remember the way she looked, all bandaged up and tucked securely in bed with Poppy's precise folds, red hair plaited neatly away from her face. That accursed green book, such a harmless object, that made him toss and turn at night for weeks being slipped onto the nightstand with childish trepidation. The hissing of her cauldron grew louder as she added another set of ingredients and started to stir, snapping Severus out of his befuddling trance.

"Counter-clockwise," he corrected her.

"How do you even know what I'm doing?" She gave him a suspicious look before dutifully switching the direction of her stirring. The mixture turned a pleasing shade of blue. "Why are _you_ still here?"

"None of your business."

"My business was none of your business."

Snape glared at her, _so nosy this one_. But, he could see the way she was narrowing her eyes and he knew she was actively searching his face for traces of deception. Though he hardly thought she could disseminate his honesty anymore, he didn't have the patience to leave her without an answer. To leave a Ravenclaw without closure was temerarious. "I am here to brew Wolfsbane for Lupin."

"There are extra stores of it in the storeroom," she said. "It's been _how long_ and you still haven't learned to lie convincingly?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at the notion. _If only she knew._

Shifting uncomfortably, Ella turned around on her brewing stool with a pout, "It's a bit intimidating to have you stare at me while I work, unless you're going to help."

He watched her fuss with her hair and backed away, pretending to inspect an empty cauldron. Eleanor added another empty container to her stack, all piled precariously on the right side of her cauldron while the left was occupied with supplies and unused ingredients. Snape was able to simply leave her be when he heard her whisper, "Oh, _damn_!"

Her tower of containers swayed dangerously as she roughly set down a flask. "Professor?"

Turning as nonchalantly as possible, Snape replied, "Yes?"

"At this time of day, where can I check my mail? I'm expecting something important that I didn't see at breakfast."

"The Owlery, obviously," he replied flatly. _Stupid girl_, he thought to himself and watched her fidget nervously.

"Is that… is that the _only_ place? Even for staff?"

"Of course, it is," he snapped. "You attended this school for seven years, you should know."

Eleanor looked crestfallen as she trudged to the doorway, long red hair swishing behind her as her footfalls grew more faint.

Snape expected her to return after a short while, however several times he had to go over to her potion and check on it, adjusting the heat and stirring occasionally. She had been gone for quite some time. It gave him a strange sense of worry, one that prevented him from fully relaxing in his chair and reading the book he had eagerly plunked from his private collection that morning. The feeling was maddeningly unfounded and persistent.

At last, he left the dungeons to look for her, walking briskly in the direction of the owlery wondering how in Merlin's name anyone who had attended Hogwarts could get lost on their way to the _Owlery_. The castle itself was strangely quiet with so few people within its walls. Even the ghosts were nowhere to be found. He caught a glimpse of red hair out a window and saw her standing in the snow looking up at the owlery tower from the doorway, still in her brewing clothes without a jacket or cloak.

As much as he hated to go out into the white, damp mess, he marched outside after her to see what was the matter. Brushing off stray snowflakes irritably, he came up behind her.

She jumped as he spoke, "As I am getting tired of taking care of your work, I would like to know what is keeping you."

Her eyes were wide, panic visible on her face, "I um… got lost and…I was about to go up."

"So go," he hissed, letting annoyance bleed into the words.

"Alright," she replied and stiffly took one step towards the door. Her boot barely made a crunch in the snow and remained firmly planted. She was visibly trembling, and though her cheeks were pale from the cold, Snape hardly thought it was singularly from the weather. His foot tapped impatiently.

"For Merlin's sake," Snape muttered under his breath before placing his palm to her back and shoving her inside.

Her sudden appearance sent several of the roosting birds to flight, who rushed about the narrow tower in a multicoloured flurry of feathers. They screeched indignantly at the intruder who had awoken them from their daytime nap. The girl had dropped to the floor in an instant, crouching with her arms pulled tight to her face as the birds swirled out into the cold air, whizzing past Severus who remained stock still. Eleanor shrieked as one large tawny slipped overhead, snagging a strand of her hair in his claw as he rushed to catch up to his brethren. Ripping herself free, she fled from the room and bumped abruptly into Snape, who couldn't help but smirk.

"It's not funny!" she insisted hotly, eyes thick with potential tears as she brushed the snow from her skirt.

"It's ridiculous." Snape restrained his amusement to the slight curl of his lips. It was proving difficult to do with the state of her wild red hair coiling out in all directions, the tie lost in the snow, and the twitchy movements as she eyed the cavernous tower behind her with suspicion.

"It is not! Try being around those bloody creatures when they think you're dinner! The first time I tried flying as a sparrow, they nearly snapped my neck in two," she pouted fiercely.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have tried that near the owlery," he replied coolly, a smug look still pulling at the features of his face.

"How did you…?" She stared at him incredulously, her yellow eyes as wide as those of the owls she left to roost in the trees, as he strode past her quivering form and disappeared into the little tower. He returned promptly with her letter in hand, stealing a glance at it before handing it over. It was on thick stationery that didn't crinkle under his tight grip. It had to have been important.

"…Thank you," she muttered, her freckles ablaze with embarrassment as she delicately plucked the letter from his grip.

A stray owl burst from the tower's entrance with a little scroll around his leg. The poor creature sailed right over Eleanor's head, sending her into hysteric shrieks and dropping for cover so low her knees disappeared into the snow. Snape almost doubled over in laughter, retaining his composure only by a thread. _A witch afraid of owls, how absurd_, he thought as a chuckle bubbled up his throat and cut through the quiet air.


	20. Panic at the League Cup

Eleanor rushed down to the dungeons, broomstick and bag in hand. She was packed and ready to go to the League Cup finals, but she had waited to ask permission for those days off until right then, a decision she wasn't sure was smart. Perhaps she'd catch Snape in a forgiving mood, or be too quick to receive a "no".

She caught him coming out the door, "Professor!"

He turned sharply on his heel before glancing at her up and down with a dissatisfied frown. _Not a good mood_, she noted as his dark eyes narrowed impatiently.

"Professor Snape, I need to request the next couple of days off," she said before adding, "please."

"Why," he snapped.

"Well… my old Quidditch team - the Harpies, you remember - made it to the League finals this year, and my replacement is hurt. They've asked for me to sub in for her, just for this one game."

"No," he replied flatly, spinning away in a flurry of black robes.

Eleanor trailed after him, "But it's only a couple days! I haven't taken a vacation yet, either. Besides, it's only the beginning of January, not much is going on here."

"I said no."

"Oh, _please_!"

She was persistent. Snape could say he saw this coming from the moment he spotted the address on that letter to the times he spotted Madam Hooch, who returned early from her vacation, practicing with Eleanor on the Quidditch pitch. She was good, he had to admit, from what he had seen. She could swerve and dive on a broomstick far better than any of the student players, riding as though she were barely aware of the broomstick or the dizzying height between her and the ground. Seeing her hurl a quaffle the same color as her hair through the goalposts countless times with a quiet fury was enough to assure him she earned her spot on the pro teams with relative ease.

"_Please_, Professor? I won't ask any other favors, ever. Just this one game!"

"A pointless sport. Why waste your time? Is your work here not captivating enough to prevent you from "

She glared, "It isn't pointless to me. Besides, it's not like I have much responsibility here anyway. You don't trust me with anything, not even Lupin's potion. I'm nothing more than your maid! A student in detention!"

"Too much can go wrong with Wolfsbane."

"Then give me something else to do!" she said hotly. "Teach me something other than standing over my shoulder and criticizing my experiments!"

"If you want to waste your life with that blasted sport, then _go_! Be my guest," Snape spat, anger boiling up fiercely in his chest. He was much too wound up to put up with her incessant pleading for much longer. It would only get worse. "You need to choose between _that_ or your studies. You need focus. That is what I am waiting on. You can't sit here with your head in the clouds and expect to have enough left over to handle things a proper apprentice should."

She frowned, "I'm going, but this is the last game. I swear it. After that, I expect something more worthwhile to do here."

Snape turned away from her once more, black robes billowing formidably, and she took the opportunity to leave. As she went, she felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Thomas was waiting for her in the courtyard to walk her to Hogmeade, where they could apparate to the moors where the League pitch was. He grinned when he saw her, giving her a kiss.

"Thomas, not here," she said, pushing him away as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Why not?"

"Please, just don't," she said, fearing someone could see.

"Fine then, Ella. Let's be going, eh?"

Snape glared down at them from behind a scratched window, a tangle of memories fighting for his attention, rising unbidden from the recesses of his carefully sorted mind. He might as well be seeing a pair long dead retreating to the school pitch, arm in arm, wrapped up in the same Gryffindor scarf while he was left alone with a dusty old book spirited out of the Restricted section of the library. He gathered a wad of his robes into a white-knuckled fist before disappearing into the winding corridors of the castle.

* * *

><p>"How 'bout a quickie before warm up?" Thomas grinned, his hand on Eleanor's thigh.<p>

"_No_, Thomas," she sighed as he slid his hand up. "Quit!"

"Why?"

"_Because_, Thomas."

"Well, give us a kiss then," he puckered up, but Eleanor moved away feeling awkward.

"What?" he asked, checking his breath. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," she said, her jaw clenched nervously.

"Awful lot of nothing. Been waiting here and you're not doing a bloody thing."

"Thomas," Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, "I just… I just don't want to."

"No one'll see."

"Still."

Thomas looked at her, his blue eyes focused intently. "You've had me waiting on you for so long, Ella. Is there someone else or something?"

"What? No!"

"Then what's with you?"

"I just…" she couldn't hold his gaze as they spoke, "I just don't know, Thomas."

"About what? Us? Merlin, Ella, we've been together for forever. Isn't it weird when a girl _doesn't_ push to get married?"

"I'm just not ready."

"Ready? Bloody hell, Ella. If almost ten years of knowing you - not counting school - isn't enough to make you feel ready, there must be another bloke you've got your eyes on."

"No, there isn't!"

"Then what?"

Thomas looked at her earnestly and she felt her heart throb painfully in her chest. She didn't want to hurt him, but she just didn't feel any sparks between them anymore. If sparks were really the feeling she was trying to pin down. Eleanor was growing tired of the toxic tug of war they had been playing since the last World Cup. It scared her to tell him anything of the sort. They just drifted apart - _which, again, wasn't quite what she was trying to express_ - after they started to argue about settling down and starting a family. Even now, guilt rose sharply in her throat from the last time they had a row. It wasn't something she wanted to think about before a game.

"I just don't know. You want answers and I don't have them," she said at last, face flushing in frustration."But we can't keep doing..._this_."

Gwenog was calling for Eleanor in the distance, sounding a bit frantic. That girl had never been patient, and Ella was glad for it in that moment.

"Fine, then," Thomas said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry 'bout it. Good luck."

Eleanor gave him a tight hug, almost regretting not saying anything to change the situation. _What can I say anyway?_ She hurried off, broomstick in hand, towards the Harpies' warm up area. Fixing her dark green robes, she mounted to fly a few laps with the other chasers and the keeper as Gwenog practiced with the other beater and seeker.

Fran tossed a quaffle to her with a wide grin, "You're blushing! What did you get into?"

"Nothing!"

"Oh? Been snogging?"

"NO!" Eleanor could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, the betrayal clearly noticed in Fran's ever-widening smile.

Wilda watched from the slowly filling stands in her green and gold team shirt, clutching a small pennant and gazing longingly towards her teammates. Fran, Ella, and Gabrielle circled around the goal posts, giving their keeper, Gail, a good workout. The practice quaffle was punched towards the posts countless times by the three of them, all dutifully returned by Gail's quick dives and turns. Eleanor was repeating the formation steps out loud as she did her best to keep up. Her limbs were still sluggish compared to what they had been not so long ago. Gwenog, Mathalda, and Gina were flying on the opposite end of the pitch making a racket as two of them smacked a practice bludger back and forth while the seeker wove around it. The sharp, metallic cracks of the bats rang in Ella's ears even brighter than the growing buzz around her. They were all in good spirits, fired up to defeat their rivals as ever a team could be. Their pre-game meal was full of smiles, as nervous as they were, and Ella felt at home again. The uniform she had retired still fit like a glove, its presence reminding her, encouraging her that she was supposed to be there. The lack of sun made it easier to spot the quaffle Ella noted as she caught it from Gabrielle. The feeling of it in her hands was at once comfortingly nostalgic and nauseating under the hazy, slow-moving clouds.

Outside the pitch, the crowds of fans were starting to collect in greater numbers. The dull roar of millions of conversations was swallowing up Ella's steps as she dutifully chanted them with each turn, each swerve, each throwing position. Soon, the Harpies were called off the pitch to let Puddlemere warm up. They filed into their meeting room, gulping down water and fixed their hair. Gwenog went over some tactics on their chalkboard while Gina stretched, her foot propped up on the back of Gabrielle's chair. Ella bit her lip, still trying to remember the plays Gwenog wanted to use at the start. There were new ones, unfamiliar ones, and she wasn't sure they would be remembered after Puddlemere's beaters starting aiming for her again. Frowning, she recalled the second beater on Puddlemere had been there before she retired, the one with the salt and pepper beard. He had a particular propensity to aim for the head and legs in close range. He cracked her skull the last time they played. _What a wanker._

"God, we are _so_ going to win!" Fran was bouncing in her seat, ponytail flying in all directions, as Ella slid onto the bench beside her.

"Shut the hell up," growled Mathalda irritably. "You'll jinx it."

"Oh stuff it, Millie," said Gabrielle, "she has the right to be excited. We all do."

Mathalda rolled her eyes and pulled on her bun, trying to tuck in some wayward strands. Her nerves could only be noticed in the way that her hands shook as the last stubborn loop of hair was shoved under a pin. Eleanor checked her guards and shoes a couple times over; she was so nervous she could barely stand it. To come back to play after retirement, even a short one, was a big deal. But to come back for a league game against Puddlemere was huge, and the crowd of photographers and reporters banging on the door not too far from them was testament to that detail. They wouldn't leave her alone the moment the game finished no matter the outcome. Stomach dropping to the floor, Ella realized by the shift in the murmur of the crowd muffled by the walls that it was time to start. Her talk with Thomas was really weighing her down, with nagging memories of the past summer when she moved into her new apartment in London clouding her mental recitation of the plays. Why wasn't she completely happy with him? Why couldn't they just agree?

"Let's go ladies!" Gwenog led the way to the pitch, broomstick held high.

_Mount, hover, wait._ Ella could feel her heartbeat block the sound from her ears. _Wait_. A prep wizard jogged up, his long fingers resting on the latch to the pitch door as the announcer's voice boomed in the stadium. _Wait_. She dug her heels into the crossbar, the thin soles of her pro-Q shoes bending like hot wax to conform to the metal. She flexed her fingers open and closed, open and closed.

With a loud snap, the pitch doors swung open, the prep wizard's voice completed drowned out by the full blast of noise of the packed stands. _Now!_ The team burst out into the air, where they were met with an explosion of green and royal blue banners and the flash of press cameras. The announcer's voice called excitedly over the crowd as they circled overhead and took their place on the pitch. Eleanor looked down, reveling in the height and the familiarity of an immaculately groomed pitch. The chaser staring intently at her from across the way was a new face, a rather cute one with a dimple pressed into the center of his right cheek. She could hear Fran giggling on her right, which prompted the man's lips to twitch into a grin.

She could see Puddlemere's seeker, Benjy Williams, circle around in his dark blue robes, coming to rest at the center back position mirroring Gina. They released the snitch, which darted away after whizzing about the heads of the players in its haste to be hidden amongst the background of overcast. The referee was holding the quaffle, glancing between the two teams tentatively from behind a thick pair of yellow glasses. The crowd was on the edge of their seat, noted by the way the roar had imploded to an almost non-existent whisper, and Eleanor began to feel the adrenaline pound through her veins, furiously settling her back into her old mindset. She was meant to be here. Her feet slipped into a better position on her crossbar as the whistle slipped into the ref's lips.

The game took off in a hurry, goals scored on both sides in a blinding barrage of passes and turnovers. Gwenog had mentioned today was not the day to play nice, and Eleanor could see why. Puddlemere was making tons of physical contact, shoving into the Harpies' chasers any chance they got, narrowly skirting penalties. They were a heavy favorite to win. Gwenog was at the top of her game, sending a bludger straight into an oncoming chaser leaving the Harpies to punch through with 'triangle formation c'. Gabrielle tossed the quaffle to Fran who sent it soaring through the middle goalpost for a third time. A loud cheer rang out, deafening and exhilarating.

_Such a rush_, Eleanor thought. She had missed it. It was good to be playing again; to feel the sweat dripping down her forehead, the wind in her hair, the excitement of the game buzzing through her fingertips and toes. She collected the quaffle and bolted for the goal posts. Ducking past a bludger, she swerved around another chaser, rolling over to avoid his outstretched arm. With all her might, she threw the quaffle and watched it fall through the goalpost inches from the keeper's fingers. The satisfying ring of the goal bell reminded her to breathe.

It was a close game, and the crowd was in an uproar after several close calls with the Snitch, when suddenly something felt _wrong_. A hush came over the crowd as Eleanor watched a man scale the wall in front of the lowest row of seats near the center line. He ran out onto the pitch, wand raised at the players, and shouted in a gravely voice. From her height, his words were nothing but noise but the crowd nearest to him began to stampede for the way out. There was a scream as Eleanor hovered there on her broomstick, unsure what to do. None of the players were permitted wands for safety. The referee seemed just as alarmed and confused as the rest of the players, all coming to a stop one by one. Disgruntled fans did rarely wander out onto the pitch, but there were quickly subdued by MLE security, usually in a highly embarrassing fashion. _Where were the MLE officers?_ There came a burst of spells from the man's wand, flying out in all directions in a dazzling array of colours that prompted some to dive away to escape their effects. Players were clustering protectively as the referee dug for his own wand after narrowly evading a violet curse. A jet of green light suddenly hit the end of Ella's broomstick with a violent lurch, flinging her from her broom. Her fingers slipped off the smooth metal of the crossbar as she desperately tried to recover from the fall and she plummeted to the ground.

Players were scattering in a frenzy around her, dodging the curses the best they could, and the crowd had erupted into a full-blown panic, charging out of the stands for safety. Benjy, who had snagged the snitch only moments before, dove for the ground to help a couple Puddlemere players who had been hit and managed to touch down safely. People were pushing past each other to get out of harm's way while security wizards, at last, were advancing on the man, fighting against the bodies fleeing in the other direction.

Everything swirled around her as feeling of her broomstick leaving her fingers replayed over and over. Deep panic flooded through her so fiercely it stung. Ella frantically tried to right herself in the air, but she was helpless. She spiraled out of control with nothing around her but thin air - too thin for her to breathe, too thin to slow her down. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught glimpses of the pitch growing larger and larger.

Eleanor hit the ground with sickening force. The minor cushioning charms woven into the pitch hardly slowed her down in time. When she came to, she smelled blood and her ears were ringing. Behind her, she could hear someone screaming, "THE DARK LORD WILL RETURN! YOU'LL SEE! YOU'LL _ALL_ SEE-…-DIRTY MUDBLOODS AND GOOD FOR NOTHING-...GET OFF! GET _OFF!_"

She couldn't focus on anything around her, everything was blurred and sluggish and spinning slightly. She saw a Puddlemere player - distinguished by his dark blue robe - run past bleeding heavily from the head, a woman was screaming frantically in unintelligible sounds, someone was shouting "Sirius Black! It's Sirius Black!" from the stands. But Eleanor couldn't move, she felt numb and heavy all over. The woman's screaming grew louder and more shrill as someone stepped over her.

"Ella! _Shit_," Thomas breathed, touching her cheek. "Ella, can you hear me?"

She nodded stiffly, "What…happened?" Her words were slurred, her lips dumb and unresponsive.

"Fran's dead, Ella."

Nausea started to creep up, she felt cold.

"I thought that curse hit you, too. _Merlin help us._ Everyone's saying it was Sirius Black. I didn't get a good look at him, but Ella... For a moment there, I thought I saw you turn into a bird."

Ella shifted nervously, feeling pain start to burn in her head and her side as she fought to take in a deep breath, unsuccessfully willing her arms to push her upright. "I...I can't m-move. Thomas, I can't _m-move!_"

"Don't worry, there's a healer on her way over. You'll be okay," Thomas murmured as he slid off her shoulder guards and gently cupped her cheek. Whether it was to reassure her or keep her head still, Ella wasn't sure. She watched his eyes narrow as he glanced off towards the other side of the pitch. "They got him."

Ella's vision started to darken, the pain was _very_ apparent now. She couldn't understand what was going on and her mouth slurred her syllables together into an incoherent, panic-ridden cry. Thomas's face disappeared, along with the Quidditch pitch, the medi-witch, the screaming woman, and the cloudy sky.


	21. Changed

The school was still buzzing about the fiasco at the League Cup when Eleanor returned a few days later than scheduled. The Daily Prophet had mentioned it was a madman, falsely identified as Sirius Black for a day, who had disrupted the game and left one player dead and dozens injured. For the longest time the name of the dead girl on the Harpies team had been withheld, making even Snape nervous. He was strangely relieved to see Eleanor return, as battered and bruised as she was.

She, too, was glad to return and noticed a small change in the man. She had anticipated the "I-told-you-so" remark from him, but he did not mention of the game, nor her appearance or anything else related. His usual abrasiveness had softened just a little. Instead of doing the monthly restocking and inventory of the storeroom, Snape had her stay and grade a few things from the first and second year classes.

She was alone, quietly working on her own, grateful to be away from prying eyes that would linger on her healing injuries. Too many students who had heard what happened, who were Quidditch fans who still recognized her, would pester her incessantly with questions. The solitude was relief, and agony. Her mind would venture down dark paths like it had done when she was being treated at St. Mungo's in that terrible, white, familiar room. She would find herself gripping the table with white knuckles and her teeth grinding together, mind racing with thoughts of dark places, blood, blinding green lights, and Fran's crumpled body, deathly pale with wide, dull eyes.

Once spring was in full bloom, she ventured out for her walks by the forest once more. Eleanor even accompanied Lupin on a short stroll or two when he was feeling better after his monthly affliction. He was glad she managed to stay and chat with him a short while before moonrise on his bad nights, after which she would flee in terror still, but not quite as loudly as before. His relative companionship had been reassuring, and she enjoyed his company more than she expected. Meanwhile, Eleanor's correspondence with Thomas, Gwenog, and Mathalda dwindled, not only due to her aversion to the owlery, but because of Fran's absence which had allowed tension and tempers to trickle in.

Instead of dreaming of Quidditch cups and the excitement of riding a broomstick high in the air, Eleanor began to focus more on complex concoctions and brewing her own plant aides for Professor Sprout to use in her greenhouses. The focus, she had decided, did her a world of good. The League cup scared her away from Quidditch completely and Snape had begun to give her more worthwhile tasks at last. She even avoided the school's games for a while. She had become convinced she was bad luck, and somehow attributed it to her father's memory - he never liked the idea of her playing professionally - whenever she was around the pitch. When she found herself thinking of practicing, she would bury herself in a book.

Perhaps, she thought, that fall in her last game addled her brain, since not once but many times she found herself staring at the potions master, noticing how remarkably dark his eyes were, wondering where he lived during summer holiday, and thinking he was rather handsome in an unusual sort of way…

Snape, too, had noticed a change in the young woman. She became much quieter, reserved, skittish, and almost fragile in manner and appearance. He would find her in the corner of the classroom in the waning streaks of sunlight long after dinner, hands locked around the edges of the table in front of her as if her life depended on it. Her eyes would be dull, focused in some random corner full of terror as though she could se the world coming to an end in the little dusty and cobweb covered corners.

Eleanor seemed to shy away from him more than usual. His gaze became a feared thing, and she would look away or at the floor when he spoke to her instead of boldly holding his gaze as she had done before. Snape continued to give her simple tasks; afraid asking anything more would prompt the girl to snap. He watched the dark circles under her eyes grow darker and more pronounced. It was unsettling to see her natural glow become so dim and her bright gold eyes turn so dull and muddy. Despite her bright red hair and delicate limbs, Snape began to find relief from Lily's haunting image, as the girl before him became more sullen, but soon he found himself missing the glimpses he would get watching Eleanor. A guilty pleasure, he realized, he found in searching for Lily's sweet face in another, fooling himself. It disgusted him.

One day, Eleanor failed to show up on time, something she had never done before. Two classes ticked away slowly without her appearance. Snape felt uneasy, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting with papers on his desk as students slaved away in front of steaming cauldrons and oozing ingredients. Minor mishaps erupted here and there, as they did with the empty-headed students that filled their schedules with his class on those days.

During the fourth year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class, his mind began to wander once more to his missing assistant. He jumped to his feet when he saw the potions classroom door creak open slightly, Lupin's worried face peering in. Snape went to the door, trying to retain his calm demeanor and battling to keep any trace of concern from his face. Lupin's voice was low, whispering about "finding her sitting at the edge of the woods". Lupin gently pulled Eleanor into view. Her eyes were cast downwards, her red hair all frizzy and tangled. She was in plain clothes, far underdressed for sitting outside all morning with the chill that was in the air. Her cheeks were flushed from the morning air, but all the colour in her skin and lips was gone from her so the colour left was sickly and jarring.

Snape thanked Lupin for finding her coolly, and stepped aside for her to enter the classroom, standing carefully to block her from view of the class. It was very close to the end of class, Snape turned and told his students to hurry themselves up and turn in their work for the day harshly. The commotion of emptying cauldrons and gathering schoolbooks distracted the students from Eleanor's reluctant entrance, prompted by a gentle shove from Lupin.

The girl froze on the spot, chest rapidly rising and falling. Snape asked her to move to his office several times, at first calmly but growing more frustrated each time, but she stood stiffly refusing to budge, eyes darting about as though something was in front of her blocking her way. Gingerly, Snape reached down and took her by the hand, urging her to follow him with a light pull. At last, she stumbled along and after all the students had gone, and Lupin as well, he closed the two of them in his office.

Snape led Eleanor to a chair gently before slumping into his own with a sigh.

A quiet moment passed. Neither of them moved. Another silent minute stretched on. Snape shifted uncomfortably, he felt her gaze upon him before looking at her. Two burning circles fixed upon him unwaveringly. Whatever she had seen at the League Cup changed her, something in her had irreversibly changed and Snape knew that feeling all too well. He didn't doubt that she knew the deceased player well, and the fall she had taken that was mentioned quietly in the staffroom had sounded harrowing to say the least.

Eleanor ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb the tangles from her fiery locks as she pulled them back out of her face, suddenly aware of their blatant disarray. "I'll get back to work." She slid from her chair and crossed the room mechanically, returning to the projects she had left the day before.

Snape watched her go, and for some reason felt a strong disappointment in remaining silent with her.


	22. Catching Lupin

"Professor!" Eleanor yelled as she hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time in her haste. "Professor Snape!"

He looked up from his book with a deep frown as she burst into his office. "Shouldn't you be with-…?"

"He's gone!"

"What?" Snape snapped, smacking his book into the edge of his desk roughly.

"Professor Lupin - he's gone!" she said breathlessly.

Snape saw the bottle of Wolfsbane potion in her hand and a long suppressed flicker of panic bubbled up within him, "Did you see him?"

"I thought I saw someone out in the grounds near the Whomping Willow. I couldn't spot him anywhere else."

Snape dashed from his desk, climbing the stairs as fast as he could and cursing under his breath. Running was not something his body was built to do well. Eleanor ran up behind him, leaving the Wolfsbane potion behind. Snape, who was much taller than her, was far ahead as they took to the grounds. He seemed to know the way to the familiar tree well. She could see him disappearing into an opening at the base of the Whomping Willow she had never noticed before.

Eleanor looked up at the tree as it thrashed and creaked and threw itself about, remembering how Bertram Aubrey got the snot beaten out of him for trying to take back the non-regulation quaffle he had been tossing about with friends. There was no pattern to the movement of the branches, and it seemed to anger when she edged forwards to get a better look at where Snape had gone. She shifted into a sparrow and flew towards the tree, dodging and diving as the branches whipped around trying to knock her out of the air. She melted into a fox just as she reached the little hole at the base of the tree, tumbling into the little tunnel very shaken but unhurt. How she would get back out would be a problem to deal with later. For now, she let her eyes adjust to the dark and strained to hear any sign of Snape, or anyone else, in the tunnel with her. A rough pathway riddled with tree roots and rocks and monstrous spiderwebs led farther than she could see. It was too low to walk comfortably within, so she remained a fox and began to trek forwards. Following the path for an endless amount of time, she came at last to an open wooden trapdoor. The room she entered swayed about as though it would topple over at any moment, creaking and moaning as dust filtered down from overhead. The realization hit her hard - she was in the Shrieking Shack.

A long bang erupted from up the narrow stairs, followed by a dull thud and a shout. Her heart leapt to her throat as she crossed the dirty, ripped carpet and hoped it was not Snape had had heard.

"KEEP QUIET, YOU _STUPID_ GIRL!" Snape roared, quashing the thoughts buzzing in Eleanor's mind. She froze, thinking he had been speaking to her after she had touched a creaky floorboard that shifted as she trod upon it. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

It wasn't her. Snape wasn't alone up there, and it surely wasn't Lupin he was speaking to. There were more voices, hissing to each over to low for her to understand, and the shuffling of several pairs of feet upon the rickety floor.

"YOU'RE PATHETIC!" came a younger voice that Eleanor couldn't place. "JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL, YOU WON'T EVEN LISTEN-!"

"SILENCE!" Snape screamed, a frantic note in his voice. "I WILL _NOT_ BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!"

Eleanor swiftly climbed upstairs towards the raised voices coming from the room at the top, trying to make out Snape's words as they dropped to little more than a whisper.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Still a fox, she crouched low against the wall and peered inside in time to see three students blast Snape into the dusty canopy bed that stood against the opposite wall, who yelped before smacking his head violently into the worn out headboard. What was a student - no, _three students_ - doing in the Shrieking Shack? Someone passed in front of the shaking group of third years, and as soon as he turned his head she recognized who it was. Sirius Black looked ragged and wretched as ever in tattered Azkaban clothes, standing alongside a remarkable calm Lupin, looking every bit the man from the wanted posters littered about every storefront and neighborhood in the wizarding community. Eleanor's heart clenched in fear, she had trusted Lupin! Was it he who helped Black into the castle before? He seemed to be smiling, laughing even with the convicted murderer.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"We attacked a _teacher_... _oh God_, we attacked a teacher!"

Their words were lost to her, her attention was fixed solely on the limp body sprawled on the bed after watching a dark ward arc across the room and land near the feet of the students still clustered in the corner. There was a thin ribbon of blood snaking its way down his forehead, glinting maliciously.

She jumped backwards as Lupin and Black began blasting a spell towards a fleeing rat that skittered its way to where she crouched, Black's claw-like hands wrapped greedily around Snape's confiscated wand. Suddenly, the wall before her blasted open with a scruffy, twitching man stuck inside. He twisted his head around, his nose wrinkling like a rat's, and caught sight of her for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes studied her, looking as though he expected her to harm him, before he was yanked out of the wall by Black. _What in Merlin's name_, she wondered as the room erupted into shouting. The man from the wall had been fleeing the grasp of Lupin and Black, darting about the room and pleading in a high pitched, nasally voice for mercy before he was thrown to the ground at Potter's feet. Glancing at Snape's crumpled body on the bed, she crouched low trying to make sense of what to do without being seen. He wasn't moving... The thought of her mentor injured put a needle-sharp pain in her chest. She feared for him, feeling an oddly protective desire to race in and blast the rest of the group through the violently swaying walls in retaliation. Her eyes remained fastened upon his pale wrist that dangled motionlessly over the edge of the bed.

There was another shouting match, during which the dirty little man with the needy eyes begged on his knees from one student to the next - Miss Granger yanking her robes from his grasp with a look of disgust - before he collapsed into a wheezing, sobbing mess in the center of the floor. Lupin shot thin cords from his wand and bound him, and gagged his pitiful, unintelligible gasps. Lupin also cast a splint for - _Mr. Weasley's?_ - leg, which looked bloody and crooked at an odd angle. His face betrayed a great deal of pain. At last the little group left the room with Lupin dragging the creepy little man out far behind the rest. Once he had gone, Eleanor slipped into the room changing back into her human form and cut off Lupin's _mobilicorpus_ with a strong swipe of her wand, letting Snape's body, which had been dangling like a broken puppet above the bed about to follow the caster, flop down once more. She could see Snape's limp form lying very still and dashed to him. The same ribbon of blood oozed sluggishly down his forehead and she wiped it away with her sleeve before searching for the source. Carefully, she lifted his head, finding a bit of blood in the back matting down his black hair. She tried to staunch the little wound with her robes again and took up her wand.

"Rennervate," she said quietly.

Snape's eyes fluttered open, darting around wildly in confusion. He sat up with a start, shoving her away as he cursed under his breath. His hand fumbled through his robes, seeking his wand.

"Professor, your head," Eleanor exclaimed with concern as he stumbled into a dust-coated wall. "Please, you're hurt!"

"Out of my way, you silly girl," he hissed, brushing the dust from his robes. "Where did they go? Where is Lupin and Black?"

"Back through the tunnel."

Eleanor trotted after him as he glided down the stairs and back down into the tunnel without another word. His strides were much bigger than hers and she struggled to keep up. A strange noise came from the entrance to the tunnel up ahead as Snape disappeared into the night. As Eleanor reached the base of the tree, she could see Snape grabbing Potter and his friends, scolding them before hearing a terrible, raspy growl. He whipped around with a horrified look on his face, protectively pushed the students behind himself. Eleanor leaned out and could see Lupin had changed, and without his potion there was no telling what he might do. Actually, she knew exactly what he would - werewolves only had one thing on their mind when they transformed.

In an instant, Lupin was upon the little group, snarling viciously. He struck Snape, sending him tumbling onto the ground. Eleanor and Miss Granger both shrieked in surprise. A giant black dog began to fend off the werewolf, allowing Snape to stand again to protect the students, still wandless and showing a bit of vulnerability in the dreadful look on his face as he watched the werewolf retreat towards the hill. Sounds of the scuffle escaladed before Potter broke free of Snape's grasp and went after the large dog. A funny howling noise echoed out from the woods, drawing Lupin away.

Eleanor took the chance to emerge from the hole in the willow tree, scrambling on her hands and feet, and hurried to Snape, who looked furious.

"Miss Granger, take him to the hospital wing. Now," Snape snapped sharply, nodding to Ron, before turning to Eleanor, " And you. Go after Lupin. Don't let him bite anyone, _for Merlin's sake!_"

"But-…"

"GO!"

She nodded and ran down into the bushes, nearly tripping down the steep hill as she ran through the undergrowth and disappeared into the trees. Her shoes slid on the sharp slope, sending a little rockslide down alongside her. Eleanor struggled through the underbrush, heart racing as she yanked branches out of her way, trampled the weeds that threatened to snarl her shoes into an impossible tangle of sharp, stinging leaves, and leapt through bushes that caught at her skirt. She stumbled over tree roots jutting out of the dirt and fell, _hard_. The shock knocked her out of her fearful stupor, radiating through her chest and reminding her she needed to calm down and _think_. As she brushed herself off, she noticed blood on her hand. It was Snape's. Up ahead she could hear snarling and a screeching noise, and following the sound she saw a creature running as fast as it could towards the lake, paying no need to its surroundings. Changing into a fox, she took off after it.

Her heart pounded so fiercely she was afraid it would burst as she struggled to catch up to Lupin's retreating figure. The werewolf, catching her scent, turned and roared at her. His claws raked the air in front of her dangerously close. She barked at him, her fox voice silly-sounding and high-pitched doing nothing to abate the situation. Again the werewolf swiped at her, catching her in the side sending her crashing into a tree. With the wind knocked out of her, Eleanor was forced from her fox shape momentarily. She rolled away from Lupin's advances and took refuge behind a tree to catch her breath. Splinters of wood rained down beside her as the werewolf raked his claws into the tree trunk.

_Don't get bitten_, she repeated to herself in her head as she ran for cover behind another tree, _don't get bitten, d__on't get bitten_! How long would she have to keep this up until he changed back? _Too long_, she thought as she dodged for cover as werewolf Lupin snarled past. If she could lure him far enough away from the school…

Jaws snapped over her head, sending her shifting back into a girl with a scream. She ran with all her might, heart gripped with terror as she forced her legs to sprint faster and faster to stay ahead of the loping beast. She couldn't concentrate well enough to retain her animagus form. Her mind swam with images of what it would be like to get bitten, to feel that searing pain racing through her blood, forcing her into a painful form where she could do nothing but hunt down everything around her…

Lupin roared on her heels, through the dense clusters of trees and underbrush. Pain shot through her shoulders and legs, Eleanor couldn't keep up her pace for much longer and her muscles were scream in protest every step she continued to take. Her eyes were blinded with fearful tears as her body began to slow despite her desperate urging. Up ahead, she could see a little hollow in a tree and leapt for it, shifting into a fox as she dove towards the little hole. Her back lit up with sharp pain as Lupin's claws raked her back.

Inside the tree, Eleanor curled up as tightly as she could at the back of her hiding place and cowered as Lupin scraped and tore at the entrance. Such a mild man, yet such a terrifying beast. Eleanor could hardly believe the rage coming from the creature that used to be her friend. It was horrifying. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt that she would be forced to injure him for her own safety.

Eleanor continued to shake violently even after Lupin gave up his attempts to claw his way into the tree to get her. Instead, he was nearby tearing the head off of some small creature that got too close. The sound of the bones popping and breaking and flesh tearing in his teeth was sickening. Eleanor's back was on fire, but she wasn't sure what to do. She couldn't see how bad her injuries were, nor could she leave the tree for help. A little whine escaped her snout as she lay down, exhausted, and rested her paws for a little while as she listened to Lupin's loud chewing and tried to steady her breathing to keep the pain at bay and retain her form. She couldn't fit as a human. A limb was ripped from the messy carcass with a loud pop and crunch. Lupin was nearly done with his meal, already anxious to move on, so Ella leaned forwards and readied herself for another harrowing run.

* * *

><p>Snape felt a flush of pride in his chest at the mention of an Order of Merlin for himself. The Minister was so eager to please, so malleable. Fudge walked beside him at an annoyingly slow pace, twirling his hands in the air for emphasis as he spoke. Severus kept his hands folded behind his back, kicking each foot out to urge himself forwards. His head was pounding with a ferocity undiminished by the headache potion Poppy had given him after inspecting his head. The allure of his bed was nearly blinding as the Minister pushed open the infirmary door again and unleashed a furious Potter upon them.<p>

"Minister, _listen_! Sirius Black is innocent! It was Peter Pettigrew - he faked his own death! We saw him _tonight_, even! You can't let them dementors -"

"Harry!" Corneilius exclaimed. "What's this? You should be in bed, my dear boy - has he any chocolate?" His question was directed to Poppy who was frantically scurrying up to catch the agitated boy.

"You must be very confused, Harry. You've been through quite the ordeal. Go back to bed and rest, my dear boy, we have everything under control," Fudge's small smile remained plastered in place.

"YOU HAVEN'T! YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG MAN, MINISTER!"

Potter's eyes bulged as he yelled, his pleading falling on deaf ears as he continued. Fudge merely turned to Poppy who was trying to calm Potter down and take his arm.

"You see, Minister?" Snape said coolly, finding Potter's expression very rewarding. "Confunded. Both of them. Black's done a good job -"

"We're _NOT_ confounded!" Potter spat, clenching his hands against his sides.

"Professor, Minister, I insist you leave!" Poppy was trying to wrestle with Potter's wrist. "Potter is my patient! He should not be distressed!"

"I'm not _distressed_, I'm trying to tell them the truth about what happened!"

Snape's lips curled int a smirk as Madam Pomfrey shoved a hunk of chocolate into Potter's mouth, silencing him. The doors to the ward opened once more with a quiet creak, and Severus had hoped to find Eleanor walking in but it was the Headmaster instead. Potter choked down the chocolate and lunged for Dumbledore, starting his speech anew.

"For heaven's sake! This is a hospital wing! Headmaster, I must insist that you all -"

"My apologizes, Poppy, but I should like a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger," Dumbledore ignored Potter's frantic stares - though now the boy looked relieved - and gave Severus a quick sidelong glance. "I have just spoken to Sirius Black - "

Anger flashed in Snape, and now he was beginning to feel like the helpless one. He couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into his voice. "I suppose he told you the same ridiculous fairy tale he's planted in Potter's mind as well? Something about a rat and Peter Pettigrew alive..."

"This is, indeed, Black's story, Severus," Dumbledore replied calmly, observing him very closely from the top of his spectacles.

"And does my evidence count for nothing?" Snape snarled indignantly. "Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds."

"That's because you were knocked out, Professor! you didn't arrive in time to hear -"

"Miss Granger, _hold your tongue!_" he snapped at the girl, who fell silent in an instant.

"Now, Snape," Fudge implored, "the young lady is disturbed, we must make allowances for -"

"I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore interjected, a note of impatience in his voice. "Cornelius, Severus, Poppy - please leave us."

"Headmaster, they need treatment! They need rest!" Poppy objected.

"This cannot wait, Poppy. I must insist."

Madam Pomfrey, visibly upset, snapped her jaw shut with an inaudible click and pursed her lips before briskly walking to her office, brushing against Fudge as he fished for a golden pocket watch from his waistcoat. The woman slammed her door behind her.

"The dementors should have arrived by now," Fudge said quietly. ""I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore - I'll see you upstairs."

He tapped the pocket watch and held the door open for Snape expectantly, but Severus did not move. He was furious at the thought of Dumbledore brushing another mishap of Black's under the rug. He ignored the Minister's impatient fingers drumming on the side of the door.

"Surely you don't believe a word of Black's story?" Snape whispered harshly with his black eyes fixed unwaveringly on Dumbledore's solemn face.

"I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Albus repeated firmly.

"Sirius Black showed he was quite capable of murder at the age of sixteen," Severus breathed as he stepped very close to Dumbledore and held his icy gaze. "You haven't forgotten that, have you Headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to _kill me_?"

"My memory," Dumbledore replied evenly, "is as good as it ever was, Severus."

Snape held his gaze steadily for a minute more, silently challenging whatever was bouncing about in Dumbledore's mind that would protect Black. Bile rose at the back of his throat as he recalled Black laughing at him after James Potter fished him out of the tunnel before Lupin could chew on his arm.

_All right there Snivelly?_

Snape turned on his heel, furiously keeping his eyes low as he strode out into the corridor with Fudge close behind. He kept walking, ferociously striking the ground with the heel of his boots with each step, until his eyes found a window overlooking the Forest. Fudge was able to pass him on his way to check with the dementors and the prisoner locked in the tower.

Eleanor had still not returned with Lupin, to his knowledge. She was still out there.

* * *

><p>Ella did not sleep that night. Terror kept her awake as she watched over the werewolf. If he started to wander off, rather than hoping for a new hiding place, Eleanor would goad him into running back at the tree towards her. She would make a racket, wait for him to notice, and dive back into the hole when he came charging back, spit flying, eyes burning with hate. The clawing and snarling would erupt anew and she would press her fox body against the back of the tree hole so hard it hurt to keep enough distance between her and Lupin's desperate grip.<p>

At last, small streams of sunlight began to pierce the horizon. Eleanor had never been so glad to see the sun rise before in her life. Lupin had been slowing as the sunlight crept in, growing weaker, more tired. Eleanor emerged from her foxhole to lure him closer to the school, to make the journey back inside with a human Lupin more easy on them both. He gave chase once more, but sluggishly, stopping to rest after short bursts of energy.

With a great shudder, the werewolf's body began to shrink and shed its extra hair. Terrible moans escaped the creature until at last Lupin crumpled to the ground as a man, beaten and bloodied, once more. Carefully, Eleanor approached him. He lifted his head, saw the little fox and smiled weakly, relief etched in every corner of his face. Changing back to normal, she joined him, glad to see he was himself again. She took him by the arm and helped him to his feet, ignoring his hesitation as he surveyed the damage he had done. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, smiled and led him away from the gnarled patch of roots so he wouldn't trip. Wordlessly, the two limped back to the castle together as the sun's full radiance spilled onto the grounds.

* * *

><p>The tower was empty.<p>

_Empty!_

Snape was beside himself, practically running back to the hospital wing as the Minister and Dumbledore - who appeared unnaturally calm and nonchalant - trailed behind him.

"He must have Disapparated, Severus. We shouldn't have left him alone. When this gets out - "

"_He didn't disapparate!_" Snape roared back to him. "You cannot apparate _or_ disapparate inside this castle! THIS HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH POTTER!"

"Severus, be reasonable. Harry has been locked up in -"

Snape disarmed the locks and kicked the doors of the hospital ward open with a loud bang. Dumbledore's amused smile sending his blood to boil.

"OUT WITH IT POTTER! WHAT DID YOU _DO?_"

"Professor Snape!" Poppy shrieked, trying to shield the student from his wrath. "This is an infirmary! Control yourself!"

He recoiled at those words. She had no grounds to lecture him on control.

"See here, Snape, be reasonable!" Fudge tottered up beside him. "This door's been locked the entire time!"

"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape screamed, pointing accusingly to Potter and Granger.

"Calm down, man, you're talking nonsense!" Fudge yelled back. "You need to -"

"You don't know Potter! HE DID IT, I _KNOW_ HE DID IT -"

Dumbledore stepped in front of his arm, face hardening, "That will _do_, Severus. Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked these ten minutes - ever since I left. Poppy, have they left their beds?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, eyes still wide in astonishment at Snape's outburst.

"There you have it, Severus. Unless, of course, you think Harry and Hermione could have been in two places at once..."

Snape's fists clenched so tightly they hurt and his stood there, seething. He looked from Dumbledore - who looked _far_ too pleased - to Fudge, who looked as shocked as Poppy and the two _sodding_ students Dumbledore was so quick to defend.

"If I'm not mistaken, Severus," Dumbledore said very quietly, his eyes darting to one of the windows, "You have something to attend to."

Snape snarled, turned on his heel with his robes billowing around him, and stormed out of the room ready to curse anything that so much as looked at him.


	23. Thomas

Summer passed by painfully slow. Eleanor tried to drown out her thoughts and nightmares with studies and gardening, but neither helped as much as she would have liked. When Thomas showed up one day at her flat, she couldn't fathom what he had to smile about. But Thomas was patient, and insistent with Eleanor, telling her how he scored wonderful tickets to the world cup, and, since the Welsh team had done poorly due to the players being all messed with, he'd wanted to go and bring her along.

Eleanor refused, not wishing to step near the Quidditch pitch anytime soon, the sting from the last game she had attended still had not worn off, but Thomas was persistent. At last she agreed, with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that failed to leave well after Thomas had gone and the day of the cup had arrived.

She moved mechanically alongside Thomas, watching people decked from head to toe in greens and reds rush by in a smiling blur. Thomas was ecstatic, his grin spreading ear to ear as he passed by fellow fans. One of Thomas's close mates played for the Irish team, and he couldn't wait to see him play. Mathalda had joined them, a sour look on her face and a new boy toy on her arm. Along with them, came a group of loud-mouthed boys with shaggy hair and scraggly beards.

Eleanor had tuned them all out, from Thomas's smiling face and affectionate hand squeezes, to the boys' blatant flirting and foul, alcohol stained breath. As they settled in their seats at the pitch as the sky darkened overhead, Eleanor was snapped from her stupor by noticing the great height at which they were standing, separated from a sickening fall by a couple pieces of railing. She stumbled backwards, away from the edge where everyone else stood leaning outwards without fear. Never in her life had she been so afraid of heights. She had no broomstick to save herself with, and after the tumble she took at her last game, heights were no longer her friend.

Thomas noticed her fearful look and wrapped his arms around her shoulders reassuringly. "Don't worry," he said in a low voice, "I've got you, you won't go anywhere."

His hands squeezed her shoulders as the Irish burst forth and started their pre game flight. The World Cup had lost its magic to Eleanor. Not because she was not longer a part of it, something that ached in her chest already, but because every time she looked up at the players zooming overhead fearlessly, she was afraid of them falling to their deaths, getting struck with a jet of green light…

Eleanor shuddered as her mind wandered back into memories that refused to be shut out. Thomas, growing concerned, pulled her closer and held tight the entire game, until the very end when he raised one arm to cheer, keeping the other securely around Eleanor's shoulders. The long descent from their seats was full of the boys' loud cheers and exciting recollections from the game. Mathalda joined in some, but the two girls did not speak to one another.

Thomas helped Eleanor the entire way down, making sure she was on the inside, away from the steep sides, even carrying her down a few precarious flights of stairs. Around the campfire, Eleanor's fears and troubles began to melt away slowly. The group was lost in song, singing at the top of their lungs with drinks in each hand and smiles on their faces, including Mathalda. Eleanor was quiet, but felt herself smile with relief. She sat pressed close to Thomas's side, inhaling his cologne and the alcohol in his drink. His body was warm and familiar, giving some comfort to her but at once feeling completely alien. She could remember times when she would do nothing but wonder how she could press so closely to him, to stare into his handsome eyes, touch his hair, press the dimple on the right side of his mouth where stubble would grow reddish blonde and prickly. But something had changed, she noted, because that spark, that excitement of brushing his hand, feeling him lean close, even to capture his attention completely for a few unbroken moments was gone. But it wasn't Thomas who had changed.

Before her thoughts could wander to the black haired man she had seen in the mildest of her dreams over the summer, screams rang out in the night. The boys laughed, commenting on the good spirits of the crowd, but soon the group became unsettled as the commotion grew closer, louder…

Eleanor clutched Thomas's jacket fearfully as plumes of smoke began to rise up over the thousands of tents. People began to run past, screaming, pushing down anything and anyone in their way until the area erupted into chaos. The boys, and Mathalda were lost in the crowd in an instant. Thomas clung to Eleanor's shaking body as they tried to call out to their friends. Pointy hats and fireballs became visible through the crowd. A strange sight, their costumes were unfamiliar yet hauntingly obvious all at once.

"Ella! ELLA! We have to go!" Thomas tried to pull her away.

Eleanor's eyes were locked on the hooded figures with skull masks walking in a mass right towards them.

"ELLA!"

Her legs moved too slowly as Thomas pulled her along, her ears were ringing with the screams of thousands but everything was dull, muted, hazy. She watched one of the masked figures raise a wand at her as they neared. A jet of green light flew overhead as Thomas fought through the crowd, dragging Ella behind him. The two took off and were lost in the crowd, leaving the skull men behind. Even after Apparating away, Ella was in shock from what had just happened, and sat there as Thomas clutched her to him and tried to whisper reassuring words.


	24. All Too Well

She had watched the winged horses bring the Beauxbatons carriage in, and the ship from Durmstrang, with as much excitement as the students around her as she made her way to Dumbledore's office. The Triwizard Tournament, she listened to him explain, something that didn't occur at Hogwarts when she had been in school, or even included them. That privilege had skipped them over for a time, and she wasn't rue it was something to be jealous of, from what the Headmaster had told her. Eleanor agreed to help out with the tournament in any way she could fervently, not needing the encouragement he had begun to give her at the start of the proposition, but began to give it a second thought when she saw the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye.

There was a soft knock at the door. Two short raps, evenly spaced and not too fast.

"Come in, Severus," Dumbledore called without looking up.

The name sent a chill down Ella's spine. She turned and watched the tall man slip into the room and glide towards them, his black eyes fixing upon her for an instant too long.

"Miss Bristow, you may run along now. I shall tell you more after the feast tonight," said Dumbledore gently. "Go and get settled in."

"Yes, Headmaster," she nodded and stood, brushing past Snape on her way out. She could barely keep herself from glancing back.

* * *

><p>Snape had not seen her since the end of term. He could only remember seeing glimpses of her after sending her after Lupin that night. She had missed the feast, slept through the day - according to Madam Pomfrey - and had vanished for the remaining days afterwards. He had gone up to the hospital wing to deliver something to Poppy the day after the incident and had caught a glimpse of Eleanor from behind her curtained bed. The sprightly nurse had come out from the white curtains, sleeves rolled up and moving in her usual hasty scurry, to take the vials Severus held for her. He had looked up and through the curtains that had been left slightly ajar from Poppy's leave he could see a slit of her figure behind it. Eleanor sat with her back to him, red hair pulled into a loose plait, with every inch of the pale skin of her back visible from her neck to the base of her spine. He could see that four large, long gashes had been sliced into her milky white skin, marring her freckles from her shoulder blades to her waist. They were bright red, angry looking marks, deep, revealing tissues not meant to be seen.<p>

Eleanor had turned as he gazed at her naked skin, and slowly caught his eye with a frightened expression for an instant before Madam Pomfrey unintentionally stepped to the side, hindering his view of the girl instantly. It was maddening, and relief at the same time. Afterwards he had felt very unsettled at the thought of what he had just seen - a half naked girl, and a co-worker no less. His cheeks burned every time the image of her pale, uncovered back and that braid of red hair reappeared in his mind in vivid detail.

Now, his eyes bore holes in the back of her head right through that carefully combed hair of hers. He stood at the windowsill behind another row of staff to hide the small amounts of blood that were creeping higher in his cheeks. Stiffly, he sank into a chair next to Karkaroff – who regarded him coldly- putting only a few seats distance between himself and Eleanor as Dumbledore elaborated on the Tournament.

It was then that the Headmaster, in a booming voice and with a sweeping gesture, ushered the entirety of the school to rise and sing the school song. Severus rolled his eyes and was savagely jabbed in the side by McGonagall's bony elbow, after which he reluctantly stood. He would take no part in singing that awful bit of rubbish. He resolutely kept his mouth tightly shut as the round began to pick up the ridiculous lyrics. McGonagall couldn't seem to decide which octave to stick with, Flitwick - from a little ways down - stood out as a high-pitched squeaking that barely resembled singing at all, and Hagrid boomed over everyone as Dumbledore conducted the chaotic mess.

Snape tried to avoid Karkaroff's bemused sneer, his attention darting across the table where he was sure he could pick out the redheaded witch happily singing along with the rest of the crowd. He was sure he could hear her voice clearly over the mess Trelawney was spewing out beside her. Then, with a grand decrescendo, the entire student body - and mercifully, the staff - ended their song and retook their seats.

The ceiling suddenly erupted into a thunderstorm overhead, quelled by the jet of light sent from the wand of an extremely unpleasant looking man who grunted towards Dumbledore before anyone else could react. Eleanor jumped in fright as he limped past her, bumping into her chair roughly and sending her skidding against the table. Trelawney had her roast slide into her lap, but it went unnoticed as everyone watched the man make his way to a chair and nod again to Dumbledore.

Eleanor did not look back at Snape once during dinner. Not once. As Snape tried to hold a civil conversation with Karkaroff, who bonded with him only on matters they could not discuss, he found himself stuffing his face with chunks of lamb to keep from having to respond.

Eleanor was looking at the new students eagerly, smiling as she chatted with her neighbors at the table. She seemed better than when he had seen her last term. Her eyes were brighter, and her skin its normal colour. But there was something odd about her. Lily's glow was gone from her a little more, as if she were more weighed down, less innocent. Despite this, she still burned her way into his attention far more than he liked.

He turned away as Karkaroff began speaking again through bits of meat. It made Snape's stomach turn to see the man's foul manners, and teeth for that matter, as he spoke. Bits of meat and potatoes clung to them as he laughed and uttered his responses in a barely discernible, guttural sounds. Severus turned to his plate once again for refuge, glad when Dumbledore rose to get in a few last words before dessert appeared. He succeeded in smashing the pastry to bits with his fork by the time he was permitted to go, and couldn't remember what it even tasted like.

Snape allowed himself one last glance at the red hair a few seats down before everyone sluggishly left the Great Hall for bed.

* * *

><p>Her presence was both a nuisance and a great comfort at once. Snape regarded her as she glided in just before classes began, her routine appearance from the previous term continuing as though summer had never occurred. With so many students this year, he was glad for her help but hated to see her so frequently. It was... <em>discomforting<em>.

All summer she had haunted him. Bringing back memories of Lily's lovely face in the sunlight back when they were children, memories of reading with Lily in the nooks and crannies of the castle when the two of them were still overwhelmed students in disbelief that Hogwarts was real. It was torture to imagine her smile and her eyes so completely that she was there in his mind so perfectly real - each touch, each laugh - and then wake to find her dead and gone from the world all over again. Worse, he was disgusted with himself for still seeing her in that red hair of Ella's. He would glimpse at her figure in the hall and imagine Lily turning around, calling out to him…

A loud slam broke his train of thought as Eleanor steadied a tower of used textbooks on a table nearby. Anticipating many of the exchange students would be without one, she had taken the time to dust their covers and sort through them. Her thoughtfulness made him sick.

Through his half open office door he could see her, red hair pulled back from her face, setting a cauldron and vials of ingredients carefully on his desk. She was very particular about arranging his materials each morning. Somehow, she had figured out how he preferred them to be. He scowled and leaned back towards his copy of the Daily Prophet. More about the World Cup. More about some wizard who was perfecting some new broomstick safety device. More rubbish.

"Have a good summer, Professor?"

Her voice, despite its quiet, even tone, was enough to make his stomach churn uneasily. Making a face from behind the paper he decided to ignore her. But after a few awkward, silent moments he could almost feel her unnatural eyes burning holes in his morning paper, almost surprised he did not see the ends of the pages alight or smoldering. He threw his paper onto his desk in a huff, sounding a lot angrier than he intended. He laced his fingers together, bit his lip, and at last quietly replied with, "Fine."

Another bit of silence.

Perhaps, he thought, he had sounded too harsh. Yet there she was, still fixing up his desk for the day's lesson.

"Yours?" He tried to sound nonchalant and uninterested. Hopefully, she wouldn't reply. _Please_, Merlin, he thought, _don't let her answer._

"I went to the World Cup with some friends. Came back with one."

His cheek twitched, his fingers were pressing on the photo of the Dark Mark at the Cup, the snake slowly winding and unwinding. Her face was bittersweet. She had a smile, but it looked forced, pained. She had paused in her work, and then finished rather quickly. Her frankness took him off guard most times.

"If you don't have any thing more for me to do, or any books to pick up, I'll be heading to the greenhouse now," she said approaching his desk with her eyes down.

He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. Her eyes. From this distance he could see they were still dark rimmed. She looked tired, as if a good night's sleep has been a thing of the past. He knew that feeling all too well.


	25. The Dragon & The Scale

Eleanor blew on her fingers to see if she could coax some life back into them. It was a chilly, foggy day – the kind she usually liked- and the first task was about to begin. Snape was sitting a row down from her, wearing a thicker black cloak and mumbling polite conversation to McGonagall, and ignoring Madam Maxime, who really didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular or speaking English entirely.

Snape had been extra quiet around her since the start of term, like he had been when she was a student years ago. He would hand her a list of things to do and return to his office, or simply walk away, without another word. Perhaps he was trying to avoid her. Eleanor was glad for the extra help she was giving Professor Sprout down in the greenhouses – where the air was always balmy and comfortable unlike outside where an extra chill would creep in every morning and night. She preferred a smile and conversation every now and again, and to feel as though she were not infested with spattergroit whenever spoken to.

Dumbledore, seated just before her, leaned back with a smile on his face that faltered ever so slightly. "Be ready, in case things get out of hand."

She nodded and flexed her fingers. Dumbledore had asked her to practice shifting in a dragon, focusing especially on flying, since school had started. _Just in case_, he would say, _things would get out of hand_. Until Hagrid tipped her off about the first task being dragons, she really didn't know why she had to practice. Eleanor had met the dragon crew when they arrived to get a glimpse of the creatures – the Welsh Green being her favorite, no surprises, same as when she was little – and shook hands with their head handler, Charlie Weasley. He was a nice fellow; resembling his younger siblings very much she thought, with hair even redder than hers – or rather, more orange.

Eleanor watched the Chinese Fireball for a long time, watching the colours of its scales reflect the low light, before another dragon had roared and caught her attention. It was the one that resembled the form she took, the Horntail. Judging by how much it thrashed about and spit fire at its handlers, the Horntail was undoubtedly the one Dumbledore wanted her to keep an eye on during the task.

Today she was nervous, despite practicing, because during the last week her transformations had become more difficult, and _painful_. It was just like seventh year. That realization sat in the pit of her stomach like a stone and made the trembling return to her hands. Suddenly, someone nearly bumped her out of her seat with a violent double-bump to the back of her had and shoulder. Turning around, she saw the outlandish reporter woman and her photographer settling in the stands near her. She rolled her eyes at the sight of the woman's dragon themed outfit and turned away. She had had enough of reporters years ago.

Cedric Diggory started off the competition with his dragon – a Swedish Short-Snout - remaining tethered safely to the ground. Afterwards, Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour both swiped their eggs without breaking the chains of their dragons – or the dragons breaking their own- and Eleanor began to relax a bit more. Perhaps she, and Dumbledore, had nothing to worry about. Perhaps she wouldn't have to shift at all. Despite being able to, Ella really had no clue what she was supposed to do to make a beast weighing several tons and made of razor-sharp everything behave, let alone shepherd it to the trainers waiting in the Forest. Ella pulled her cloak around herself more tightly and watched her breath rise in the air like little whips of smoke. Somehow, she was a little glad the Tournament had skipped over Hogwarts when she was eligible, as this task seemed rather reckless and Dumbledore had said this was only the beginning.

As Dumbledore announced Harry Potter's entrance to the arena, there was only a moment of fanfare. Eleanor felt a tap on her knee and looked down to see Dumbledore whisper something to her.

"Be ready."

It was as if the man knew something was going to happen. The sudden silence grabbed her attention; the dragon – which had already been prompted into the arena – was not to be found. Suddenly, with a terrible shriek, it made itself known and slammed its tail into the rocks very near the boy's head. Eleanor knew why Dumbledore was so unsure of this creature, it was mad and that chain around its neck suddenly seemed too feeble to contain it.

And it was. The Horntail snapped the chain like it was nothing and took off after the boy, now mounted on his broom cleverly summoned from the castle. Potter swerved towards the teachers' section and the dragon followed. Its tail came crashing into the stands, sending splintered wood everywhere and sucking the screams right from their mouths in a great gust of wind.

Eleanor had jumped to the side, feeling that Skeeter woman's heels jab her shoulder as the group toppled over. There was a shuddering roar growing farther away and both the boy and the dragon were gone, off towards the castle - exactly two things Dumbledore had been concerned about. Eleanor pushed herself up, seeing the back of McGonagall's hat and Snape's hair just in front of her. The elder woman was brushing herself off when Snape turned and looked over his shoulder. Eleanor's chest tightened as he caught sight of her looking at him, so close she could see the pores on his nose. Unable to make out his expression, she sat up very quickly as Rita Skeeter's shrill whining filled the air and her quill jabbed at the pages fluttering beside her head. Dumbledore tapped Ella on the knee once more.

"Give him a few minutes to return, then go."

She nodded to him and sat on the edge of her seat, waiting as the crowd began to worry and settle. Her fingers curled around the bleacher, her nails dragging against the rough wood as she tried to breathe and remember each and every step she needed to shift. There were distant roars, and then a dreadful silence. Suddenly, Potter came flying over into the stadium, broom smoking but still whole, and he easily scooped up the lone golden egg. There was a collective gasp, as though the entire crowd had been holding their breath the entire time, followed by a huge roar of applause.

Eleanor saw Dumbledore mouth, "Find it." She rose and trailed her way down to the exit with some difficulty, as everyone seemed to be on their feet cheering.

Scanning the skies, she saw no sign of the dragon. Heart pounding in her ears, she started to run through the damp grass, her eyes darting about trying to find any signs of the creature. When she was far enough away, she shifted with difficulty into her dragon form with a stifled yelp. It stung to remain like that, more than it had in the past week, prompting her to take to the skies and finish her errand quickly. She rose into the air, dropping and gliding around clumsily. _Too much weight to move around_, she thought to herself, _it's a wonder these things can get their fat ass off the ground. _

Suddenly, she heard it. A deep rumbling growl that erupted from way below a crumbling bridge she did not remember being damaged. Before she realized it, the dragon had bounded into the air, charging straight for her, leaving trails of disrupted fog behind it. The force it struck with was blinding. Even with her tough dragon hide, the impact sent a sharp pain up her side. The creature was like her, covered in sharp spikes and spines, and it spit and fought with all its might as she tried to fight it to the ground.

She was at a disadvantage - it was obvious. Very, _very_ obvious. This creature had spent its entire life in that body. It knew how to maneuver with ease, take flight and shift its weight in a deadly way, and breathe fire. There was the biggest problem. As soon as flames began to pour from its mouth, Eleanor was on the retreat. Dragon hide or not, the flames would burn with an intensity she was not willing to feel.

The edge of the woods - there would be a group of tamers guarding the other dragons and the empty cage of the Horntail. Charlie Weasley would be there. Or perhaps, he was still at the arena. She hoped he would be with the others and tried to get the dragon to follow her as she shakily flew towards the trees. He was the one Dumbledore had mentioned to find specifically, the one who was sure to know how to calm any unruly dragons that got loose, or did damage to a competitor.

There it was. That strong, ripping sensation from the tips of her toes to the top of her head returned with a vengeance. The same pain that had plagued her practice was enough to cause her dragon eyes to water slightly. She urged herself on as she felt the Horntail raking the spikes of her tail with its claws. The ground was rising beneath them as the slope began to level off.

The dragon caught up, pushing her down while biting and snapping at her neck. She didn't dare try to use fire, she just couldn't manage it still and wasn't ready for another bout with a burned throat. Once was enough. The sound of the dragon's throat welling up, collecting gases and sparks threatening to let fly another round of flames, jolted her into action. She snapped back with her razor sharp teeth and found that chewing on the dragon's shoulder did nothing to harm it. Her teeth merely glanced off its scales. She wasn't used to the pressure, the strength needed to inflict damage. It was no wonder that fledgling dragons were plagued by a high mortality rate. Considering her size - nearly a quarter of the one she was facing - and relative experience, she was no better than a year old greenie who had barely grown his horns.

_This was a mistake._

Eleanor needed to escape, bide her time until they were close enough to the tamers for her to hand over responsibility. She began to think helping out in the Tournament, or rather doing favors for Dumbledore, was becoming a bit too much for her to handle.

She slipped free by some miracle and took off towards the tree line again with the raging dragon on her heels. She urged herself faster, faster until they were zooming towards the forest at breakneck speed. Her wing faltered, and she felt herself begin to shrink, being forced from her dragon form by a blinding pain. It choked her and seized her arms up. Blinded, she gave up staying in the air.

Dropping into the rocky hill below, the dragon sailed overhead into the grass at the edge of the forest just as her body could take the form no longer. Eleanor tumbled down into the rocks, landing sharply on her arm and hitting her face on something hard. Reaching up, she realized her arms were human, and sore, and her nose had begun to bleed and stung enough to make her eyes water. She scrambled up the rocks in time to see the dragon land, whip around sharply and let out a roar upon spotting her. A group of tamers cast a series of silver chains from their wands that wrapped around the beast and dragged it towards its cage, all grunting from the strain of the beast's foul temper as it thrashed against them every step of the way.

Relieved when the big metal doors slammed shut, she started walking towards the group of tamers regrouping with relieved smiles plastered on their soiled and sweaty faces. Among them was Charlie Weasley, who was yelling at a few others to secure the Horntail's door and move it away from the other dragons that were snapping their jaws uneasily upon its return. He turned and waved to her, sticking out brightly against the deep green of the trees.

"How'd you manage? Dumbledore said you'd help out if something went wrong, but getting that fella back here was no easy feat," he said, raking through his red hair with his dirty fingers.

"You mean you didn't see?"

"See what? I only saw him come flying in like he was after us! Gave us a right good scare when he got loose."

Eleanor sighed with relief, still clutching her nose.

"That looks like it hurts," Charlie grimaced as he noticed the blood slowly trailing down to her chin.

"Oh you know," she said, wincing, "just a little."

Eleanor started back up, seeing she was no longer needed _thankfully_, and waved goodbye to Charlie.

She made a beeline for the castle, and once inside, reveled in the warmth that the stone walls kept in. It was still a little chilly until she made it to her room, where a fire was already lit in the hearth. It was there where she got a good look at her face in the mirror and shrieked.

"Episkey," she whispered with her wand in her face and her nose snapped back to normal with a painful crack.

She swore loudly and clutched her face as tears squeezed out of her eyes. "MERLIN, that hurts! Troll-biting, dung-eating-... _UGH_!"

Staggering around, still reeling from the sting from the spell, she grabbed a spare towel and started to wipe the blood from her face before stripping her soiled layers of gloves, scarves, and sweaters. It felt good to get out of them, curl up in her worn armchair, and clutch a book. She didn't feel like budging until dinner, after the trouble she had just gone through. Judging by the noise echoing up from the halls, the students were returning with their champions.

After several chapters of her book, she began to scratch at her right shoulder blade. The itch had begun small, but the more she sat there the more it began to itch. The spot was simply numb to her nails and the edge of the quill she snatched up in a futile effort to reach the offending patch of skin better. It drove her crazy after a short while, so she tugged off her shirt and went to her mirror again to see if she had a rash. What she saw made her blood run cold.

A black scale was sitting on her skin near her bra strap, the same place that was itching like mad even still. She gently scratched at it, her fingers glancing off the slippery scale. Soon she was picking and prodding at the edges of the scale, trying to get it off. Her nails caught it under the edge and she tried to pry it off, but it was stuck. She couldn't leave it alone and soon Ella was pulling the scale from her shoulder blade, ignoring the sharp sting in a desperate attempt to be rid of it. Her heart fluttered in horror when she saw herself peel off the scale while craning her neck around to see in the mirror. Underneath the removed scale was a bloodied mess. It looked as though a small, shallow chunk of her skin was missing. On the floor, the scale sat glinting in the firelight.

Eleanor shrieked and backed away from it, clutching at her shoulder while her back began to bleed. "What the _HELL_?"

Grabbing the already bloodied towel from her chair, she pressed it to her back and stared at the scale. She did not touch it. She didn't even go near it. She left it there, lying in the middle of her stone floor, even as she left for dinner. Her face cleaned up as best she could manage, she trailed along the corridors to the Great Hall with her shoulder blade still stinging badly. She did her best to bandage it up with supplies in her room.

As Eleanor gingerly took her seat, she kept her face down as dinner was served and Dumbledore made his announcements about school and the Tournament, trying to disappear into her wooden chair like a ghost. She smashed her shepherd's pie into a mushy pulp before eating it and drank four glasses of pumpkin juice as her mind tried to work through what had happened. It was impossible to sit in that awful wooden chair without sending her newly bandaged shoulder into a throbbing frenzy.

* * *

><p>Snape noticed Eleanor slumping awkwardly in her chair the entire meal. Her nose looked reddish-purple, making the freckles on her nose diminish like stars at dawn. Her fingers drummed on the table anxiously as she looked around like she was waiting for something to attack.<p>

_Curious_, he thought as he drained his goblet while Karkaroff boasted in one ear and Flitwick did in the other. He wondered what she had gotten into after she left the stands earlier that day when Potter was nearly squished by that dragon. He couldn't admit how disappointed he was in the ease of Potter's win. That dragon could have done better.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he watched Moody, in all his gruff nastiness, lean closer to Eleanor with his hands wrapped around his glass. Her shoulders twitched nervously as she leaned ever so slightly away from him, answering Alastor in short, quiet phrases. It seemed to Severus that Eleanor found that man as appealing as he did.

Snape watched her lean farther away as Moody laughed loudly, and caught sight of something red staining her light shirt. A little red spot near her right shoulder. The deep lines of his brow pinched deeper as he stared at the spot while dessert blossomed on the plates of every table in the hall.

_What on earth_, he wondered, _did she get into?_

His eyes alighted upon Dumbledore, who had been genially leading a debate on the best vacation spots in the south of France, as the old wizard looked to the redhead and gave her a solemn nod.


	26. Sleep

The hours after dinner became something to be dreaded to Eleanor. She had slept more and more poorly with each passing night. Nightmares were violent guests to her sleep. Often she would relive some past event, skewed slightly as a dream of course, or imagine horrifying days to come. Her parents would surface, looking more ghoulish and inhuman each time, clawing at her with long fingers, pulling her from her broomstick to the ground where she would hit the grass and wake up with a sore back – or on the stone floor itself. Blood, jets of green light, Death Eaters, Fran's dead face, Thomas being slaughtered. Everything seemed to morph into one awful event. She had begun to develop more and more gruesome dreams, and would wake up screaming until she was hoarse.

Eleanor was glad for her room being away from any of the dormitories, though she wasn't sure who was nearby at all really. After one particularly bad dream, where she had the bones ripped out of her legs by some masked Death Eaters after they ripped Thomas, Mathalda, and Fran to pieces, her screaming alerted a House Elf who had been cleaning in the corridor on the other side of her door. When she woke, still feeling a sharp pain in her legs, she spotted the creature standing in the doorway with his eyes wide with fright.

"Miss is alright?" He asked her, broom in hand.

Panting, Eleanor nodded and apologized for the noise. The little elf vanished and returned a little while later with a plate of cookies. The gesture became a regular thing. She would wake and find a plate of some little thing to eat and a glass of pumpkin juice sitting on her floor near her bed every now and again. She, in turn, would leave little thank you notes on the plate, which vanished before morning.

The elf, Pinnet, would often be the only comfort she had on bad nights. Each morning she would put a little more makeup under her eyes to make the dark circles diminish slightly. After a while, the makeup didn't seem to be helping at all.

Her throat was suffering worse for wear. All that screaming she was doing at all hours of the night – which was a wonder to her why no one but Pinnet had heard – was tearing up her throat, and she would wake with it feeling sore often. A heaping helping of honey in her tea each morning at breakfast seemed to do the trick, but she had to douse the taste with a piece of toast.

Despite the draft, Eleanor began to sleep with her covers less tucked in around herself. It was dangerous, she found, to be so tightly wrapped in the warm of her down comforter. She would wake up and be violently twisted up in it, half strangled sometimes dangling over the side of her bed. It was a nuisance to untangle herself just to get a gulp of fresh air. So each night, she would slip on her nightgown, pull up her hair, brush her teeth, and tuck herself in loosely. Her eyes would close, and she would go over mild things – the weather from the day, what to do the next, faces she had seen… She would drift off soundlessly for an hour or two and then begin to twitch and thrash about until in the wee hours of the morning, when it was still dark she would scream herself awake and find Pinnet's little treat in her room. She would eat, drink, and try to close her eyes again before the rays of sunshine bounced through her window and reflected on her little mirror right where her pillows were.

Every night.

* * *

><p>Snape noticed each week Eleanor was look less and less well. She would come in each morning, shoulders hunched slightly, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun or plait. She would greet him, always, and move through her work a bit more slowly than the year before. Her eagerness waned. She would be out of breath upon returning with requested books or ingredients from the storeroom. At first it was a little irritating to him, but as it went on he began to feel more and more concerned for the girl.<p>

One night, upon returning from his shift of walking the grounds, he had found her sitting in the chair he had left her in after dinner. Papers sat in two neat piles before her, and the quill was still in her hand. Eleanor was, however, leaned back in the chair, eyes closed in sleep. She looked exhausted, and for some reason he couldn't make himself wake her. Instead, he watched her, taking a seat nearby.

Ella's head was tilted to one side, her lips parted ever so slightly. Her freckles glowed on her skin, and for some silly reason he tried to count them. He lost count too easily. Her face was relaxed as she slept, and with her eyes closed he could imagine himself staring at Lily.

He wondered if this was what Lily looked like each night when he said goodbye to her outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. Tucked in her bed high up in Gryffindor Tower while he was down in the Slytherin dormitory under the lake. What could she have dreamt all those nights? His mind jumped to the evening she shut him out of the Gryffindor common room after their argument, leaving him to cry silently next to the portrait of the Fat Lady who could think of nothing else to say to him but "it'll be alright, you'll see"…

He watched her lips begin to mouth something too soft to hear. Her face turned from peaceful to almost fearful slowly as her words became more audible.

"No…" she whispered, "Please…"

Snape shifted in his chair, his dreams of Lily gone.

"Don't… cry…." The quill dropped from her hand and fluttered to the floor. "Don't…-"

She bolted upright, eyes wide open, causing Snape to jump in his chair and frantically reach for a book. Trying to look occupied, he glanced over the pages and watched her turn towards him slowly, her red hair falling from its plait and spilling over her shoulder.

"Professor," she sighed. "I'm sorry, I must have dozed off."

"So you did."

"I'm nearly done," she said picking up her fallen quill. "I've only got three more assignments to go through."

Severus looked at her ink stained fingers and tried to hide his face, "Leave them. They'll keep until tomorrow."

Stunned, the girl remained in her chair, "Are you sure?"

He nodded. What a stubborn girl she is.

"…Alright." She rose and smoothed her skirt carefully, pushing in her chair behind herself. "G-goodnight, Professor."

He nodded again, feigning turning a page as she walked past. Until the sound of her footsteps left the stairwell, he held up his book. Then at once, he relaxed, dropping the volume back onto the table. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he decided to retire as well, suddenly feeling drained.

Glancing down he realized the book he had been holding up was the second year primer with a scribbles of a hippogriff and a unicorn laced together by an odd looking bow. It was all he could to do to hope she was too tired to notice.


	27. Daydreaming

_The Yule Ball? What am I going to wear?_

Eleanor sat hunched over a stack of supplies as details of the upcoming event flew through her head. McGonagall had caught her in the teacher's lounge and explained with just the slightest hint of excitement that she was teaching her house how to dance for the ball. Eleanor was half tempted to join in. She didn't know how to dance.

Nor did she have anything formal enough to wear, for that matter. She spent an evening going through her entire wardrobe and found nothing fancy enough. Just a bunch of work clothes and casual outfits she could never pass off for dress robes. It would have been nice to have some warning she thought as she tossed supplies into their proper place in the storeroom.

All of the students were buzzing about dates. They were whispering and giggling in the halls, running about in packs. It was fun to watch some of the boys swing and miss in the halls between classes. True, she felt bad for them, but the reasons were so silly, and the looks on their faces… She wished her school days had been kinder.

Even some of the teachers planned on sticking together for the evening. Dumbledore and McGonagall would of course, as hosts of the event, be the leaders for the night. Even the gamekeeper had his eyes on that giant lady from the French school. It was one of those times she wished she were still in school and could just hook up with some random boy from another house for the night. She was too old for any of the students, and too young for nearly everyone in the castle that remained.

Moody had been pinching her ass in the halls every so often, giving her a creepy wink that made her skin crawl. She needed someone to keep him at bay. She shuddered and tried to think of any other candidates as she dumped lacewing flies into their jar, which looked suspiciously low.

There was the Ghoul Studies professor, but he was way too creepy. The Alchemy professor wasn't bad looking, but he had at least twenty years on her. The Magical Theory professor was also decent looking, but he wore a wedding band. She slammed a package of boomslang skins onto a shelf in frustration. She had to replace them far too often, too.

There was her mentor, Professor Snape, who was, in her opinion, not bad looking either. But the thought of Snape dancing at the Yule Ball, or even showing up made Eleanor snort with laughter in the storeroom. She covered her face with her hand to stifle the unladylike snorting that erupted between laughs as dust rose from the shelves. When her giggles subsided, she started to finish up while imagining Snape in the dress robes she caught sight of Ronald Weasley holding up the other day from his morning mail that nearly sent her morning tea shooting through her nose. She collapsed into another fit of giggles as she shut the storeroom door.

Eleanor took the outdoors route to the greenhouses, enjoying the snow that settled on the landscape like a thick white blanket. The cold made her nose and cheeks turn red. Every now and then a little snicker would slip out as she imagined silly things about her fellow staff members. She looked to the woods longingly, as she had not ventured out of doors too often this school year. She missed the sounds of the wood, the feeling of leaves and twigs and rich soil under her fox paws, the smells of the trees…

As she climbed into the greenhouses, she was enveloped in a humid heat that prompted her to shed her winter wear onto a stool and grab an apron. Pomona was watering a tray of slowly swaying seedlings. Eleanor waved hello to her and started making her way through the rows of plants. The air was heavy with the smell of warm foliage, a sweet smell that Eleanor looked forward to. It was a feeble surrogate for the real woods. Today she needed to take some cuttings for the first classes after break; they needed to dry out before they could be used. With a small pair of scissors she snipped off healthy looking vines and placed them in the pocket of her apron.

Her mind wandered to silly thoughts about dresses and dancing until she absentmindedly snipped the edge of her finger. With a yelp she dropped the scissors into the middle of a patch of snapping blossoms. Sucking on her wound, she sat down to think, unwilling to try and pry the scissors out from the mess in front of her.

_Why_, she wondered while watching the plants, _have I been so vexed by him lately? _Her thoughts wandered to Snape. Recently she had been all too willing to stay late if he remained, and for some silly reason would try to sit somewhere close to him at dinner. Every time she would be beaten to those prized seats beside the potions master by someone else. Or perhaps, he was sitting down with the intention of keeping her away. He never seemed willing to hold her gaze, or conversation.

But she had seen him often at night, in her dreams. Only when they were calmer, less brutal would he appear. As they shifted into something more sinister he would vanish like he did during waking hours, slipping behind a corner, ducking out of a room without a sound. She couldn't understand why she wanted to spend so much time with him. Or wanted so badly for him to look at her. Or talk to her. Anything.

Any sort of verbal praise – already scarce enough – was such a reward to her she would get giddy and excited until she turned red in the face from suppressing her smile.

She daydreamed for quite some time before a mandrake seedling broke her thoughts. This school never seemed to be in short supply of them, it seemed.

* * *

><p>One day, at dinner, when the holidays were drawing near, Eleanor slumped at the teacher's table with her hand propping up her cheek. The past week had been brutal, or rather the past few nights. She was tired all day, longing for a nap. She wanted nothing more than a good, long, <em>dreamless<em> nap. Earlier, she nearly switched asphodel with Angel's Trumpet leaves, which would have poisoned the poor third years that were trying to brew Wiggenweld potion.

She picked at her plate, fighting off the urge to fall asleep on it, when Moody leaned over from behind. His face, and odor, caused her to jump.

"You're looking ragged," he grumbled.

"I don't sleep well."

He nodded, feigning sympathy. He could use a bath, she noted.

"What's eatin' ya?"

She narrowed her eyes, "None of your concern."

His eyebrows rose while his magic eye zoomed about in a creepy way. She wondered with a shiver what exactly he could see with that thing. He seemed to think a moment before producing a small green vial.

"You sound like sourpuss over there," he guffawed. "Ever give this a try?"

"What is it?"

"You're a potioneer, aren't you? Shouldn't you know?"

She should, but she couldn't place it by the colour- it was distorted by the green glass. He pressed it into her hand.

"Give it a try. Helps me sleep and I've seen some ugly things." He leaned back and sighed, leaving a cloud of foul breath in his wake. "Hell, I wake up to this," he gestured to his face, "everyday!"

Pleased with himself, he hobbled off while Eleanor stared at the little vial in her hand. She uncorked it and sniffed tentatively. It smelled like a normal sleeping draught. She had tried some before, with little results. She merely took longer to wake. What made this one so special?

* * *

><p>AN: I'll admit, I rely a lot on music to get me in the right mood to write. This entire story has been written to me listening to the soundtrack of the final movie. I just love it. How dark it is, how sad... Worth trying if any of you are looking for a good mood-setter! ;) (My favorites have been tracks 1, 16, 17, 20, & 21)


	28. The Yule Ball

Eleanor glanced at herself in the mirror. She liked the dark blue gown she had found. It was strapless and fit her well. The only problem was it revealed a lot of her back, where the scars from last year's encounter with werewolf Lupin and the scab of the scale, which still sat untouched on her floor, showed through. She made a face; her dress did nothing to hide them at all. She had nothing to slip over her gown but an itchy green sweater. Definitely not fancy enough. She cursed herself for not thinking of finding a shawl, or a gown with a closed back or sleeves.

Letting her hair down, she glanced again. Her hair was long enough to cover the entire slit of exposed skin on her back. Perfect. As long as she stood pretty still, her hair would stay at her back and hide the ugly things underneath. It's not like she planned on dancing anyway.

She missed Lupin. His presence at the school had been so friendly and genial, aside from his werewolf bouts. Perhaps he would have been willing to be her dance partner for the night. He was, after all, not that much older than she was. Not bad looking either.

She sighed loudly as she pulled on her heels. Maybe she would get lucky. Probably not. At least she had The Weird Sisters to look forward to, along with every other screaming, hormonal teenager in the room. She smiled, at least that would be fun. She felt like one, all dolled up in her dress, and didn't have any qualms partaking in a screaming crowd clawing their way to the stage. She had done that more times than she could count, and it was high time to do so again, staff status be damned.

Slowly, Eleanor made her way through the halls, brushing past tons of couples all decked out in their finery. Suddenly she began to feel a little self-conscious. It was silly, she knew, but she couldn't help feeling like everyone she passed was staring at her back. Trying to walk with an unnaturally stiff posture did little to abate her worrying, her hair still swished rebelliously as she clicked each heel against the stone floor. Down the steps she saw Professor McGonagall talking to Harry Potter and his... oddly dressed... friend Weasley. One of them, at least.

"Oh there you are!" McGonagall called to her, hands suddenly held in the air. "Come along this way!"

Eleanor made her was down the step a little more quickly, careful not to trip on her dress and fall down in front of everyone there. The hem snagged only once, but she kept her footing. McGonagall pressed her bony fingers into Eleanor's back and hurried her along into the Great Hall. It was a wondrous sight, the Hall all decked in white with trees towering where the teachers' table once was. Icicles dipped down from the buttresses and snow fell from the enchanted ceiling in huge, perfect flakes. She smiled widely, much to McGonagall's amusement.

"You look wonderful, dear. A smile really suits you," the older woman said kindly.

Eleanor muttered a thank you as she watched the snowflakes fall upon the swiftly gathering crowd of students, all fidgeting with their dress robes before everything began. They were eagerly pushing each other aside to get a glimpse of the champions hiding out in the corridor. McGonagall began to lead her again, more gently this time, towards the tamer staff crowd.

"You'll stand back here with the rest of the staff. That's right, off you go."

Eleanor moved over to where most of the other teachers were clustering - in front of the orchestra. Her eyes searched the group, but she did not see Snape. Dumbledore smiled to her as she walked by, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. He nodded and murmured a compliment. She couldn't remember what she said in reply, her mind was entirely focused on keeping her footfalls quiet. Behind her, she could hear McGonagall ushering in the remaining students, and one reluctant teacher. Snape, with a sour look on his face, was wearing his usual black outfit, was shoved into the crowd of teachers by a bitter looking McGonagall. Eleanor felt her chest flutter, and smiled to herself at the sight of him in all of the white decorations. He couldn't have been more out of place, and his posture truly reflected the notion.

The great doors flew open and the crowd applauded the four champions and their dates as they entered, though none could surpass the sound of Ludo Bagman's clapping, his purple robes with bright yellow stars waving. What that must feel like, thought Eleanor as she clapped - much quieter than Mr. Bagman - and listened to the orchestra began to play a waltz. The memory of her first League cup came to mind. The sight of such a magnificent stadium nestled within a gasping chasm of dark rocks and deeply green moss, of the crowd gathered not in tens or hundreds, but _thousands_, and the noise they had made. Her mouth had hung open - most unattractively - until her teammate was kind enough to remind her to shut it. It was hard to suppress her smile at the thought, but the music began to pick up and her attention fell to the spiraling couples, with Potter and his date awkwardly moving about, and Dumbledore, who began to take the floor with three different ladies. As she had guessed, he danced with McGonagall the longest.

Eleanor stood anxiously on the sides with the other teachers not bold enough to take to the dance floor. She watched Snape, who stood stiffly watching the twirling couples with a frown. She wished, for some remarkably strange reason, that she could gather the courage to walk over and ask him to dance. Karkaroff had been dancing with one of the elder staff members before he walked over and, with a bow and thick accent, asked for Eleanor's hand. Suddenly, wishing to dance seemed like a terrible idea.

His breath was as foul as his teeth she noted as she gently placed her hand in his to be polite. At least, she thought as he led her out, she wouldn't be stuck standing the entire time, alone. Karkaroff was uncomfortably close as his other hand locked around her waist. _It could be worse._ She noticed Moody drinking heavily from his flask before bringing Professor Sinistra out to the floor. He winked at her as they twirled past and she nearly gagged.

At last Karkaroff seemed tired of her, or at least of dancing, and he led her back to the rest of the waiting teachers. He bowed again, and kissed her hand –the gesture was enough to make her sick in her throat, hidden behind a painfully tight smile –and finally turned away. Fighting the overwhelming urge to go wash her hands, she nearly bumped into Snape as she made her way to the tables.

She had seen him watching her dance with Karkaroff, and now his black eyes were fixed on her again. Eleanor smiled and nodded to him, "Professor."

She could see him swallow and hesitate. He nodded stiffly. There it was again, that strange desire to ask him to dance. Instead, she moved to the side, deliberately standing where she knew he could see her. But Snape decided to duck out around the same time Karkaroff did, and many other teachers. The orchestra had finished playing and students were gathering around the stage that had appeared. A loud scream blared into the crowd, who erupted into a roar, and the party was in full swing as The Weird Sisters stepped onstage after Flitwick attempted an introduction before getting carried away by the crowd.

Eleanor joined in the crowd by the stage, putting her arms in the air and shaking her head along with the music. Bodies were packed tight, slamming into each other as everyone tried to get as close as they could to the band while jumping and dancing about. The room was sweltering. But it was the first time in a long time Eleanor let herself have some real fun and let loose. She got some puzzled looks from students who recognized her, and others seemed to be amused with her joining in the fun. She and Flitwick were the only teachers remaining that weren't standing along the sides and back of the room chaperoning, and she was the only one singing along with Myron Wagtail as he screeched out "Do the Hippogriff". But, Ella was hardly alone in noticing how attractive Gideon Crumb - the bagpipe player with the short beard and dreamy, pale blue eyes - was as he began his solo.

At last, she couldn't stand the heat anymore, and the band had moved on to some slow songs that ushered awkward couples back to the floor while the rest dashed for refreshments. Having no one to slow dance with, Ella felt it was the perfect time to head out for some air. She spotted Potter leaving ahead of her, and passed by a snogging couple that ran at the sight of her. Suppressing a snort of amusement, she kept going until the chilly air swept over her sweaty forehead. The snow was still falling outside in the quiet, quiet evening. She sat and glanced up at the sky as raised voices drifted over to her, cutting through the haunting echo of "Magic Works". It sounded like Karkaroff shouting. He always seemed to be upset, or sounded upset, and had a distinctive note that could carry over a remarkable distance. There was another voice too, but it was quiet until she heard a carriage door slam, two students popping out from behind another running inside looking rather guilty.

_No wonder the windows are all fogged_, she grinned.

"It's a sign, Severus! You know it is!" Karkaroff's voice was harsh, cutting into Eleanor's bemused stroll. She stood and looked over while gathering her hair over one shoulder to keep it from fluttering into the sight of the wizards arguing just ahead.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said another man coolly. Snape, it was Snape. She could recognize his sarcastic baritone anywhere now.

"Really?" she heard Karkaroff begin as she peered through the windows of a carriage. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind rolling up your sleeve?"

Through the window, she could see Snape press himself against the glass and raise his left arm over his head, away from Karkaroff. The carriage shook slightly and bits of snow fell free of its roof.

"You cannot pretend this isn't happening, Severus," Karkaroff hissed, his accent growing far more difficult to understand the more agitated he became. "It's been growing clearer and clearer for months. You cannot tell me you haven't noticed! I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it -"

"Then flee," Severus said curtly. "Flee after preparing a convincing - and I do mean _convincing_ - excuse. I, however, will remain here at Hogwarts."

"You don't fool me, Severus!" Karkaroff spat, hand unwinding itself from his goatee. "You are _scared_! Admit it!"

"I have nothing to be scared of, Igor," Severus replied coolly.

There were giggles and the rustling of leaves nearby. Snape leapt towards them, wand blasting the rosebushes mercilessly, while Karkaroff looked on in panic.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett," Snape shouted at a girl retreating in a frilly pink dress, who was quickly followed by a boy trying to re-button his shirt. "And from Hufflepuff, Stebbins!"

Snape took not two steps before calling coldly, "And what are you two doing?"

Eleanor had to slide over to make out a pair of boys past Snape.

"We're walking," said one of them, his voice short. "Is that against the law?"

It was Weasley. Maybe. Which meant the dark haired blue beside him was Potter.

"Keep walking, then!" Snape shouted before turning on his heel.

As she pressed herself against the cold metal of the carriage, Eleanor saw Snape dart away towards the other side and his footsteps sounded like they were heading away. But suddenly, he appeared on her left looking livid. Eleanor staggered backwards in her heels, struggling in the snow.

"Ah… um… came out for a bit of air," she stammered, trying her best to look as inconspicuous as possible.

He looked her over, rubbed his left forearm with his cheeks slightly pink and his jaw clenched tight, and left without a word.

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief and struggled back to the stone steps well behind him, counting the minutes until she could take her bloody shoes off.


	29. The Black Lake

Eleanor trudged into the potions classroom with ingredients in tow for the next week's lessons.

Snape, without looking up, said to her, "Dumbledore wants to see you in his office."

"What for?" she sighed as she put another heavy container on the table.

"Go and find out."

She rolled her eyes and turned away. "Professor, I've noticed the stores of some ingredients going awfully fast. Polyjuice potion hasn't been one of the lessons has it?"

""No, why?" Snape sneered as he looked over.

"Because the boomslang skins and lacewing flies, and, well, the gillyweed have been cleared out recently, along with some other things. I didn't notice for a little while, since we've been using them in class but… but they're lower than they should be."

He stared at her, brows knitting together, until she left through the creaking door.

* * *

><p>Tentatively, Eleanor leaned over the side of the boat and peered down at the black water. Dumbledore pressed a white stone in her hand and smiled reassuringly.<p>

"So, they'll just come up to talk?" Eleanor asked him again.

He nodded.

"And they won't hurt me?"

Again, he nodded.

Filch, oars in hand, growled at her, "Get moving!"

"Right." She stood at the side again and, with great hesitation, jumped into the dark water. She immediately came up for air, gasping. The water was freezing. She took a deep breath and dove under the water.

She regretted consenting to help. The water was so cold it hurt. She cast a bubble-head charm and took a deep breath. Find the merpeople. Show them the stone. Lead them to Dumbledore. Simple task. She glanced around and couldn't see anything moving around in the tall stalks of plants that rose from the depths of the deep lake.

She swam on, the water beginning to feel less cold. Far below, she noticed movement, something swimming up towards her –fast. Panicked she began to rise towards the surface before the creature appeared just below her, eyes wide. Her fingers unclenched from the white stone and she revealed it to the creature. It stared at the little object and looked upwards.

Eleanor and the merperson both surfaced near the little rowboat. Dumbledore greeted the mermaid in a foreign tongue as Ella wrapped an arm around the side of the boat. Filch glared down at her as Dumbledore motioned for her to come closer.

"She will help you take the students down and get them ready. She knows where they need to be," Dumbledore smiled and clapped her on the shoulder.

Eleanor looked over to the mermaid as Filch lowered a frozen Ronald Weasley into the water. She caught him around the arm, he seemed heavier than she thought. The mermaid took a young blonde girl. The two of them disappeared under the water, Ella following the mermaid down into the center of the lake, where ruins of arches stood among the weeds.

There were others down there, waiting. They tied the two students down with long strands of seaweed. The sight of them made Eleanor uneasy as she brought down the fourth student - Miss Granger it seemed – to the depths of the lake. The Tournament was beginning to become more unsettling.

* * *

><p>Red sparks floated up to the surface of the water. Eleanor leaned over, rubbing her arms to keep warm in her swimsuit, and watched them disperse into the air feebly and vanish. Dumbledore nodded to her and she took off down the stairs to the lower platform and dove into the water. She cast her charm and traced back to where the sparks had come.<p>

Again the chilliness of the water had taken her by surprise. Searching for the caster in the murky water, she could see movement up ahead. Dumbledore didn't want to see anyone drown. Neither did Eleanor. She kicked towards the swirling mess up ahead and saw a blue swimsuit behind a swarm of grindylows. They were furiously attacking the poor girl like mad, overwhelming her. Eleanor whipped out her wand and sent a series of hexes at them, hoping for them to disperse quickly.

A few started to swim at her, and she ended up kicking a few away while trying to get the rest to leave. At last she was free of their slimy little tentacles, and the blonde girl floated weakly up ahead. Grabbing Fleur by the arm, she tugged her towards the surface. Always, it seemed, the surface seemed so much farther away when she was swimming towards it. Fleur was like a dead weight, stunned by the attack.

The two of them gasped for air when they surfaced, their charms popping into nothing. Fleur coughed as the crowd collectively shouted their disappointment. Eleanor helped the girl swim over to one of the platforms where she was taken away by a swarm of blue uniforms and swathed in a cocoon of towels.

Eleanor pulled herself onto the platform, shivering in the breeze. She wrung the water from her hair as some kind soul with dark hair handed her a towel before she flopped down with exhaustion. She couldn't wait to return to her room and curl up by the fire. As time ticked away and only two of the champions surfaced successfully with their friends, Eleanor began to worry she would have to go back in. But at last, Harry Potter and the remaining two victims surfaced and were received by a screaming crowd.

Relief.


	30. The Unbreakable Vow

Eleanor, hands full of supplies for Snape's storeroom, rounded a corner just as Karkaroff came storming by, one hand scratching at the sleeve of his other arm.

"I'm sorry, sir-…"

Karkaroff's eyes were wide with anger and he cursed at her and strode away before she could finish. _What a nutter_, she thought as she started picking up the dropped jars of herbs. As soon as she got the jars balanced in her arms again, she began her way down the hall once more. This time Ella spotted Potter walking by, brows knit together in concentration while his eyes grazed the floor.

He looked up for an instant, "Evening, Miss Bristow."

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," she called back as the boy retreated away. At least he was polite. She never understood Snape's issue with boy.

Her hand found the latch for the storeroom and she pulled it open, slipped inside, and closed the door behind her. It was already lit inside, and she turned to start up the ladder when she bumped right into Snape. All of the jars fell to the floor again with a loud clatter.

They were pressed close, with Snape being pinned in by the ladder in that little room. Eleanor's heart beat fast as a pregnant pause passed between them, neither sure of how to react to the proximity. She began to apologize when she noticed Snape, too, was messing with the wrist of his left arm.

"What's the matter?"

"None of your business!" he snapped at her, while hastily trying adjust his sleeve. He was far too irritable, too _angry_ for it to be nothing.

"High Master Karkaroff was fussing over the same arm." Her eyes narrowed on the man, as his fingers reluctantly loosened from his sleeve and stilled. Snape said nothing for a moment, nor did he move away.

"What's wrong with your arm?" she asked again, more firmly.

"_Nothing_!" he hissed, shifting restlessly.

"You're lying."

His eyes sparked as he bit his lip, cheeks growing red with anger.

"I've seen you mess with your arm before. Especially this term."

Snape was still silent, his black eyes darting nervously across her face and to the door and back. Eleanor reached for his arm, but he quickly raised it over his head, out of her grasp. He held it there defiantly, giving her the coldest look he could muster, but she knew something was wrong. His eyes betrayed that very plainly to her.

"Let me see it," she hissed, with more acidity than she had ever used with him.

He looked livid and his hand darted for the door latch. She was quicker, throwing herself in front of the metal pull and reaching for his arm again.

"_Don't touch me_," he spat at her. But she had grabbed onto his left arm as hard as she could and refused to let go as he thrashed about. Hastily inching his sleeve up, they continued to struggle until at last the last inch of fabric was pushed off his inner wrist. His skin was even paler than hers beneath his sleeve, and there right next to the bluish shadow of veins was a gray mark.

She let go of his arm like it was on fire, leaving a red set of fingerprints on his skin.

"There!" he screamed at her as she stumbled backwards in fright. "Is _that_ what you wanted to see?"

Tripping over a fallen jar, which thankfully hadn't shattered both times she had dropped it, Eleanor crashed into the door and slid to the floor. Never had she seen him so angry, and that mark on his arm… She hadn't been mistaken seventh year... It was darker than she remembered it, near black. It was a horrible thing that seemed about to writhe about on his skin. His shoulders rose and fell and his jaw clenched tight while he towered over her.

"Y-you're…you're a _Death Eater_!" she exclaimed, cringing at the stupidity of the statement and how trusting she had been. She began to panic, chest heaving frantically with the realization it was an _active_ mark.

Snape's lips were thin and colourless as he glared down at her, his arm still visible with that ugly mark marring his skin. He took a step towards her, sending a jar of dried tentacula leaves skittering across the floor.

"Stay _away_ from me!" she screamed hatefully. She felt betrayed, and horrified. "I _trusted_ you! And you served You-Know-Who!"

Snape's rage was waning, resentment slowly sinking into his features. He tried to say something to her, but she did not hear it.

"You're a _murderer_!" Her legs struggled to support her weight as her hand searched for the door latch behind her back without luck. "You're a foul, wretched, horrible- I SAID STAY _AWAY_!"

She slapped his hand away sharply and gave him a shove as she pulled the latch open. Snape leapt forward and slammed the door shut before she could escape. His other hand grabbed her shoulder and shoved her into the shelves. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she struggled in his grasp.

"You can tell no one. _No one_. Do you understand?" Snape voice was dangerous and quiet. "Calm _down_, you silly girl…"

"I'll tell everyone! Especially Dumbledore!" she screamed at him.

"Dumbledore knows," he said softly, his anger abated with a strange change in his demeanor. He was suddenly weary, shoulders falling slightly and his grip loosening for a moment. The brief flicker of sorrow that flashed in his eyes struck a chord with her.

"W…what?"

"Dumbledore knows because I am working for _him_." He admitted before adding, " And you can tell _no one_. Understand?"

She studied his face carefully, "You're… telling the truth."

Snape nodded and began to ease up on her shoulder, then hastily buttoned his sleeve again as though he was disgusted with his own skin.

Her eyes trailed on his wrist, heart pounding. She didn't know what to think of him now. "But… y-you can't-…who else knows?"

"Dumbledore."

Ella swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her face in her hands. Her wand pressed against her side. She jumped as she saw him turn his wand over in his hands. Her mind jumped to a memory charm - he was going to erase what she had seen. He must've guessed what she was thinking by her looks.

"I trust you. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"Why?" she burst out. "Why do you trust me?"

He hesitated, she noted while watching his lips open and close as he chose his words carefully. "Because you haven't given me any reason to doubt you."

Eleanor found the latch again with her hand and slipped out of the storeroom. She ran down the corridor until she put a good distance between herself and Snape. Collapsing against the wall, her fear began to get the best of her. Sinking to her knees, she burst into hysterical tears as her fear unsurfaced. _Snape_. A _Death Eater_. This entire time, while she had been looking forward to close encounters like the one she just had, he was a Death Eater. The thought made her nauseous.

In a frantic moment, she became convinced she should turn him in. But she hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to run to the headmaster's office, or McGonagall's office and scream to the world that Severus Snape was a Death Eater. He trusted her.

_But why?_

Looking over her shoulder at the slightest sound, she spotted him standing just down the hallway. Jumping to her feet, they were caught in a stand off. Her fingers laced around the handle of her wand. Unable to reason if her instincts were sound - and too frazzled by jarring memories and rumors - Eleanor had a crushing need for space. She needed to _think_.

_No, _she told herself. She needed the truth.

* * *

><p>He could see her raise her wand slowly. With a wild look in her eyes she spoke slowly, "Stay back."<p>

Completely shocked by his own actions, he was astounded she had not attacked him sooner. She seemed mad enough to strangle him on the spot. How could he tell her something so important? How could he have been so stupid? Their plan was so new, so freshly laid, and now his apprentice was about to tattle it all to the world. His mind shoved the memory of his trial - where Dumbledore had vouched for him using his own word and reputation - far away, into the deep recesses of his brain veiled in his occlumency shields.

Severus stood his ground, but something seemed to snap in her. She began to shake, and her eyes darted from him to the hall behind him. Suddenly, he realized she was going to run.

Ella took off in a sprint right for him and went sailing right past. He knew where she was going. Dumbledore. He took off after her, but she was far ahead. _The steps will slow her down_…

They did - _merciful Merlin_ - allowing him to catch up. Frantically, she urged the stairs to climb faster before shifting into a bird and flying up the shaft as soon as he leapt onto the rising staircase. He could see her land up above, letting out a strangled cry before pounding on Dumbledore's door with the heels of her hands.

The latch clicked open before Snape got to the top. She was already inside Dumbledore's office as he, feeling very winded, stepped before the door. The old man was standing at his desk, looking down at them both in a set of shimmering, pale blue robes.

"Good evening," he said calmly, glancing from Ella's disheveled hair to Snape, hunched over, panting slightly from the run.

"Headmaster," Eleanor stammered, "he-… he's-…"

"She knows, Albus," Snape muttered.

"Ah," the old man leaned back on his desk, at ease.

Eleanor was dumbstruck. "W-why…?"

"Severus, I think we can trust Miss Bristow to keep your secret," Dumbledore sighed with a knowing gleam in his eye.

Snape sneered at the girl, who still stood there dumbly staring at Dumbledore. He didn't have much of a choice without wiping it away with a memory charm. He cursed himself for what had just happened in the storeroom, still feeling foolish. Why did he decide to trust her for that one bloody moment? It could have been the end for him, fast. He could not afford slip-ups like that, or more people carrying his secret. He sank into a chair while Dumbledore explained to the girl, who stood there, mouth agape.

"Albus," Snape interrupted, feeling too exposed hearing the old man tell this silly girl all of this information, "can't we just modify her memory, or get rid of her? It's too risky."

Eleanor whipped around and glared at him, fingers on her wand. There it was again, Snape noticed, that wild, almost crazed look in her eyes. Dumbledore gently pushed her wand arm down with a smile.

"Now Severus, I think it might be beneficial for the both of us to have someone helping us here."

"We have the Order."

"It'll do you some good to speak to someone other than an old man."

"She'll be our undoing."

"Give her a chance…"

"Why?" Snape snapped at him, standing with his hands clenched. "Why trust our lives, _our plan_, to this stupid little girl?"

"I AM NOT STUPID!" she burst out. "Nor am I little! You are only a few years older than me!"

Snape swallowed, having forgotten how close in age they were. She had finished her third year when he graduated from Hogwarts. Had he even noticed her during those few years they were both at school?

"You said you trusted me," she remarked sharply, cheeks bright red. "Or was I wrong about you telling the truth?"

He said nothing. She had never guessed wrong. He still couldn't even devise how she knew each time, which little ticks or habits would give him away. He worried that if she could notice, could anyone else? Could the Death Eaters? Or perhaps even the Dark Lord himself all those years? The idea of her being a Legilimens presented itself again, but he pushed that away. There were none of the signs, and she had none of the control needed for such a delicate discipline of magic.

Dumbledore was speaking quietly to her, urging her to calm down by offering a fuller explanation. Severus felt very exposed as Dumbledore lightly detailed his past and felt even worse when he saw her expression as she worked out the parallels to her seventh year. Her unease abated, and Severus was surprised to find no contempt in her face when she glanced at him while Albus was urging her of the importance of secrecy on the matter. She agreed with him, but when Dumbledore asked him to recognize it, Snape stubbornly refused.

"It's a bad idea to let another person in, Albus."

"What do I have to do to prove to you that I will keep your bloody secret," she hissed. "Make an Unbreakable Vow?"

His eyes narrowed, "Would you?"

"Of course I would. It would be much better than letting you root around in my head and vanishing memories." There was still a note of wariness and bitterness in her voice. He watched her as she stood her ground. Could she really be trusted? Snape watched her lift her arm and extend it to him. She wavered for a moment as he approached.

"Really?"

"Severus, please," Albus insisted. "There's no need with the Order's-..."

"I would."

"Your wand, Albus."

Dumbledore looked down at Snape with the same look he gave that Potter boy so frequently. Was it pity, Snape wondered, or disappointment? There was only one way to safeguard all they have worked for as soon as they realized the Mark had begun to reactivate, either erase her memory or let her go through with the Vow. If she backed down, as Snape thought she would, then perhaps Albus would be more open to the idea of the memory charm. Then their tentative plan would be contained and safe once more.

Snape raised his arm while Dumbledore stood between them with a pained look on his wizened face.

"Severus…"

"If she's so determined, let her take the Vow," Snape said flatly.

"I'm not afraid," Eleanor replied, holding her hand steady.

Snape grasped her arm - it was colder than he anticipated – and she his. He felt a strange sort of rush when his fingers locked around her wrist. He had avoided her touch - or anyone else's for that matter - so frequently the sensation was utterly foreign to him but strangely soothing. Her pulse raced wildly under his fingertips. He looked her in the eye as she continued with the Vow without a hint of a doubt in her face.

Dumbledore reluctantly raised his wand. "Severus-…"

"It's the only way to keep her silent," Snape hissed softly. Dumbledore's gaze hardened for a brief moment, revealing the cunning wizard who had urged him to spy on his former master - should he return, and Dumbledore had little doubt now - and the followers that lingered in the name of the Order. Severus couldn't bear the thought of the Dark Lord returning, or devise how he would do it. He wasn't even sure if _he_ was up to the task at hand.

"You're sure, my dear?" Dumbledore asked her softly, his eyes pleading with her more gently than they had with Severus.

She nodded, determination creasing her forehead. Snape was sure she would back down any moment and end this childish game of dares. He was not willing to relent in the challenge. There was too much at stake and she was too...unpredictable.

Dumbledore hesitated, but at last Snape could see three rings of light, burning like little flames, encircled around Eleanor's wrist and his own. Still, the girl remained. Even as he spoke, asking her to keep his secret, her eyes did not stray from his. The gold lit from the rings seemed to glow piercingly, unnaturally.

Dumbledore finished and she was silent for a moment, hesitating. He was sure, now, any moment…

"I will." Her reply was firm, but he could feel her fingers shaking.

The light disappeared into their arms, leaving a faint scar upon both of their hands. He felt her grip linger, and for some reason he, too, was reluctant to release her arm. There was silence between the three of them. Snape couldn't believe what she had just done, and neither could Dumbledore it seemed.


	31. Nightmare Fuel

Severus usually didn't dream.

Despite the horrors he had seen as Voldemort's servant, the pain and suffering he had witnessed for years, even his own wretched childhood could not stir him at night. He had only vividly dreamt when the Dark Lord was targeting Lily, and when she had died. Very few times he had glimpses of places, echoes of voices, snippets of faces. Often he fell asleep in his study, in his armchair with a book in his hand. He would wake and remember nothing of the night before, just the blackness of sleep. Silent and soothing.

Lately, ever since the encounter with Karkaroff, Potter, and Eleanor in the storeroom, Snape would have glimpses of dreams each night. A voice, a face, and gesture…

One night, he dreamt he saw Eleanor sitting in her usual position grading papers. Her back was to him. Suddenly, he was just behind her, and he could see Ella's arm where the lines of the Vow glowed brightly. Turning slowly, she looked to him. Her eyes were green. Severus lurched backward and saw the glowing lines slice into the girl's wrist, sending blood spewing from her pale flesh. There was a scream, and he woke with a start.

That morning was especially troubling to him, and by the time he descended into the dungeons further to his classroom, he was ready for the day to be through. Pushing open the door, he found Eleanor sitting in her usual place, perched before a small stack of graded papers. His entrance was quiet, but the sound of the door was usually enough to prompt Eleanor's daily greeting. This morning she was silent.

He had left her there before retiring the night before, she had said there were several assignments she had not gotten to. The candle on the desk was burned down to near nothing, with melted wax pooling in a small lump on the surface of the wood. Her hair was the same as the day before.

Snape approached her cautiously, "Good morning."

Eleanor was silent still. He could see as he neared her she was holding up her right arm. There, on her pale skin, he could see the faint lines of the Vow, still barely visible since it had been taken. A sharp feeling of dread rose through him, remembering glimpses of his dream.

He was at her side now. Severus leaned over slightly, and could at last glance at her face. She was indeed awake. Her eyes remained their natural gold colour. But she was staring at her arm intensely, as if in disbelief or horror. Her hand was shaking slightly. How long, he wondered, had she been sitting like that? Her quill was sitting atop the parchment rolls with dried ink on its tip.

He tentatively touched her shoulder and repeated in a slightly louder voice, "Good morning."

She jumped violently, nearly falling out of her chair. Looking up at him, she still looked bewildered.

"Have you been here all night?" he asked.

"S-seems I have." She hastily combed through her hair with her fingers. Papers shuffled loudly. There were footsteps on the stairwell. Voices.

"Go to bed, Miss Bristow."

Her eyes widened, "Oh I couldn't! I have so much to do today. And Professor Dumbledore needed me to start helping Pomona with the third task-…"

"Go to _bed_, Miss Bristow," Snape repeated more firmly.

"But-…"

Snape gave her a harsh look and at once the girl was silent. She gathered the scrolls carefully, replacing the quill in the inkwell while she tidied the tabletop, and handed him the wad of graded assignments. He took them from her, watching the way she moved and noticing how dark her eyelids had gotten.

_Does she ever sleep_? Snape watched her reluctantly disappear up the stairs as students poured in.

* * *

><p>Eleanor did not take the day to rest. She read, scribbled notes, and watched the clouds float past her window. She could not sleep. She was tired, her eyes stung and her head hurt, but she could not sleep. Simple as that.<p>

She forced herself to attend dinner, where she received a good many concerned looks, and overheard a few whispers about "makeup" and "unhealthy" and "bad example". She picked at her food, sipped her drink, and left the Hall without lingering to watch her mentor leave before her.

There she was again. Nightgown on, hair braided, face washed, teeth brushed. Staring at her bed by the firelight with a mixture of apprehensive longing. The little green vial Moody had given her remained on her nightstand. She had not been brave enough to try his "miracle remedy" quite yet. Now seemed a good a time as ever.

Slipping the vial into her fingers, she uncorked it and knocked it back in a gulp. There was not much in there, but boy was it a potent, awful taste. She downed several glasses of water and re-brushed her teeth twice before the taste seemed to dull. But already her eyelids were becoming heavy, and her eyes burned to be closed…

So Ella tucked herself in, but not "too in", and snuggled down to a swift slumber.

It was bliss. Silent, black, dreamless bliss…

* * *

><p>Snape was up and roaming the halls in the dark. It was his turn for late night watch, and he did not complain in the least. Strolling through the corridors of the castle at night had never been a bother to him. He loved the silence, the darkness, the quiet weight of the ancient building around him, and the strange sounds that went unnoticed amid the hustle and bustle of the day that suddenly seemed deafening.<p>

Catching a student out of bed wasn't all that bad either. It was rather fun to him, having that power now after living for seven years unable to sneak into the library at night.

This night was quiet and as blissfully serene as ever. His footsteps were light as he turned past numerous rooms and halls. No one stirred it seemed, until he could hear something faintly drifting down the corridor on his right. Growing closer, the noise grew noticeably louder.

Louder and louder it grew. It was an infrequent, primal noise that reverberated off the stone walls sending painful chills down his spine. There was a figure, very small in stature, standing before a door half hidden by a tapestry of a pair of doves clutching violets in their beaks in midflight. Growing nearer to this door, the noise became very clear.

It was a scream. An earsplitting, heart stopping screeching that was so raw and terrible it made him stop in his tracks with his knuckles turning white from clenching his wand so tightly.

A house elf, with a little plate of cookies stood before the door looking terribly bereft.

Snape could hear the woman continue to scream horribly. The little elf reached up and pushed the door open, unsnapping the lock with a little puff of smoke. The door swung open, letting dim firelight and that horrible racket pour into the hallway. The full volume of the screaming took Snape by surprise.

The house elf stood in the doorway, meekly taking one step in while clutching his plate tightly.

Snape peered into the room, fighting the urge to cover his ears, and saw a writhing figure wound up in a white comforter. Red hair was spilling over the pillows. Instinctively, Snape lurched forwards into the room towards the screaming woman, nearly stepping on something black on the floor.

It was Eleanor, thrashing about in sheer terror with her eyes squeezed shut and her nails scratching into her own skin. Her shrieking just wouldn't seem to end. Her arm flew out and bumped her nightstand, sending a little green vial smashing to the floor.

Never in his life had he seen her in such an outburst, and the very sight of it scared him. Severus, unsure of what to do, reached out and tried to steady her arms, pulling them away from clawing at her face.

"Miss Bristow!" he yelled at her, shaking her slightly. "Eleanor! ELEANOR!"

His hand fought to cover her mouth to muffle her screaming long enough for his yelling to reach her. After a minute of fighting with her, and shaking her violently, her body gave a start. Her eyes snapped open, face still frozen in a state of panic.

Severus relaxed and released her arms after she had stopped fighting, and stared down at her utterly perplexed. Then he noticed something wasn't quite right.

Her eyes were black.

It was not from the darkness, as no halo of gold appeared around her dark irises. It was something else causing her eyes to change into those dull black eyes that stared vacantly upward. She was so still all of a sudden, he had to glance at her chest, which still rose and fell rapidly to make sure she had not simply died on the spot.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and her lips began to silently whisper something incoherently. Her hand reached out, groping for something in the air, finding Severus's sleeve. They closed tightly around the fabric, as if clinging for dear life, while she continued to whisper words Severus could not understand. Her eyes were unfocused, hollow.

Looking back, he could see the little house elf staring back at him.

"Bring Albus and Poppy here," he snapped at the creature.

As Eleanor's eyelids began to flutter closed, her body started to convulse and a shriek of terror ripped through her throat.

"Quickly!" Snape yelled as he fought with Ella, trying to prevent her from tearing the skin off her face, and the house elf disappeared with a loud pop.


	32. He's Back

He had felt his arm burn before Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory returned with the cup. He was back. Potter was right. The whole school was watching Mr. Diggory lament the death of his son, who lay openly in the grass still clearly visible between the few who ventured near. Moody was dragging Potter back to the castle as Dumbledore tried to coax Mr. Diggory out of public view.

The Dark Lord had returned.

Snape felt his stomach churn horribly as his arm continued to announce the Dark Lord's presence forcefully.

Everyone seemed to be too shocked to know what to do. The faculty moved sluggishly as the students stood looking on quietly. Minerva pursed her lips and helped Mr. Diggory to his feet along with Dumbledore as they tried to move the little party back to the castle. Someone had asked the students to return to their rooms. There was silence still, broken only by Diggory's horrible cries muffled by the number of bodies surrounding him. Never had Severus seen the students so somber, all trudging along with their eyes downcast and colourful pennants and flags trailing on the ground.

Snape followed the small group of faculty that ventured up to the hospital wing to deposit the boy's body somewhere more private. Mr. Diggory had either tired himself out or ran out of tears and voice, as he settled into a chair beside his son and wept in silence. Poppy Pomfrey drew the curtains round them to hide the grieving father from the other sparse residents of the hospital wing.

Snape glanced around, looking for Potter. Moody had surely brought him up here with his arm so bloodied up. But there was no sign of him. Dumbledore seemed to be searching for Harry as well and met Snape's gaze momentarily with a knowing yet worried look on his weathered face. McGonagall and Dumbledore started for the door with Snape close behind. He glanced over for a moment and saw that she was still there.

As the three of them hurried for Moody's office, where Dumbledore was sure they would find both the Professor and Potter, Snape kept his hand fastened to his left arm as the Mark burned intensely. He couldn't apparate here, nor could he hurry off to the Dark Lord any time soon. He would surely be punished for his tardiness, but not when the Dark Lord hears of the information he could "share".

Potter was right. He was back. The very thought sent his stomach churning again and his knees shaking. He had not missed the punishment, the fear, the regret. He dreaded what tasks awaited him as the Dark Lord's agent, and worried that his guard might fall for an instant and become his undoing. It was too overwhelming.

Snape followed the other two teachers into the dark office as Dumbledore sent Moody flying into his chair. Potter was there, sure enough. Dumbledore called for him, and Snape knowingly pulled a vial of Veritaserum from his pocket and dumped its contents into the writhing man's mouth. Severus looked on as Dumbledore interrogated the man, asking for Moody sharply. The false Moody nodded to the giant black trunk in the room and Snape, raising his wand, whisked it open to reveal a poorly clothed man Dumbledore recognized.

Snape popped open the flask he had swiped from Moody's desk, and with one whiff he could tell its emptied contents, "Polyjuice Potion."

"Now we know who's been stealing from your stores, Severus," sighed Dumbledore.

Minerva left for the Owlery as Dumbledore protectively ushered Potter to the door. Snape was alone with the wild-eyed imposter. Pressing his wand into the man's cheek, Snape glared down at him. He was the picture of a Death Eater. Dirty, nervous, and angry. Snape could feel the man's tongue brush the inside of his cheek where his wand was.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere," the man growled.

Snape said nothing and focused on ignoring the pain in his arm.

"You can't ignore him forever. He'll find you," Crouch continued.

Snape pressed his wand more firmly to shut him up. It only worked for a moment.

"Pity about your little girlfriend." The man licked his lips with a devilish grin.

Anger burned in his chest, but Severus remained silent. He was only trying to make him angry, make him slip up. But Snape wasn't about to let this psycho run loose in Hogwarts, or get under his skin. He held fast to his wand, anxiously waiting for someone to return.

"She just looked so tired," Barty continued, "so I helped."

Severus's eyes narrowed, his fingers trembling around his wand. It was _his_ fault that Eleanor had fallen ill. He pushed his wand into the man's neck sharply, "What did you do?"

Barty smirked, tongue flicking, and shifted in his chair, "Just gave her a little drink."

The Veritaserum was still in his system, and Snape had given him enough to last for another hour or two, but this man was making him work for an explanation. He had gotten under Snape's skin by mentioning Eleanor, more than he should have. Severus pushed against Crouch's throat with his other hand and snapped at him, "What did you give her?"

"A…draught," the man sputtered out with a sneer on his face. Suddenly the man burst into a fit of psychotic laughter, "But I never said I was good at that sort of thing!"

Snape watched the man thrash about, eyes bulging, as footsteps grew louder in the distance. Voices rang out from behind him, but Severus held fast. His blood boiled as he glared at the man seated before him. He had poisoned Eleanor by giving her a poorly made draught, or perhaps he had intended to make it poorly. Not knowing what he had put in there made it difficult for Severus to think of an antidote. But at least he had a foothold on the situation. Madam Pomfrey had been stumped when Snape had brought her in with Dumbledore. She could only sedate the girl. Thinking back, Snape remembered the shards of green glass on the floor of Eleanor's room. The pieces were long gone by now.

An Auror stepped forwards, wand raised, and called for Severus to step away. Reluctantly, Snape obliged, but he was furious. Barty Crouch's laughter echoed into the halls as Snape left, taunting him.

The rest of the castle was enveloped in silence. No one was out in the halls, and Snape moved swiftly through the corridors back to the hospital wing. His fingers felt their way into his pocket where the smooth black scale sat since he had picked it up that night in Eleanor's room. It was a thin, but very tough scale that could be bent with some pressure but did not break. He had studied it by candlelight ever since. Where did it come from, he wondered, and why was it in her room? He was sure it was a dragon scale, but how Eleanor had one was troubling. It didn't resemble one that was marked by the Ministry for trade. Instead of the underside being covered by the softer, more flexible hide, the underside of this scale was caked in sharp scale fragments and bits of dried blood.

Snape's fingers left the scale as he walked into the hospital wing. Mr. Diggory was still there, softly moaning from behind the curtains in the very far corner. Madam Pomfrey had emerged from them with a full teacup, which she placed nearby before crossing them room. Potter sat with his arm bandaged, talking softly to Dumbledore. The elder man acknowledged Severus as he walked past with a grave nod.

Severus made a beeline for a nearby bed, uncomfortable with so many people in the room that were awake and within earshot. Hesitating slightly, he sank into a chair with his back to the rest of the room. The bed's occupant was still and silent, in stark contrast from his last visit. His eyes lingered on her hand. It was ashen gray, with black lines tracing over her veins visibly, fanning out into an ugly network of infection. Her fingernails had been carefully clipped by Poppy to keep her from scratching herself too deeply. There were plenty of lines of scabs where she had succeeded in scratching herself raw in one of her fits. He reached out for her hand…

Madam Pomfrey appeared on the other side of the bed. Snape snatched his hand away as the woman carefully picked up Eleanor and sat her up, the girl limply leaning against the woman's arm.

"Any closer to an answer, Severus?"

He was silent, too uncomfortable to speak.

"Well, I'm afraid if she remains like this any longer she'll have to go to St. Mungo's."

Snape could hear the fatigue in the woman's voice. Her lips frowned deeply, and her face darkened. She was obviously rattled by the death of the Diggory boy. He watched her rub Eleanor's back and check her for any new wounds or sores. Something caught his eyes by the girl's shoulder. It was a large pink spot, a fresh scar. The shape was familiar to him. His hand pulled the scale from his pocket and he reached up and placed it over the scar.

"What is that?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

It fit exactly. Quickly, Severus shoved it back into his pocket, "It's nothing, Poppy."

Looking up, he got a good look at the girl's face as Madam Pomfrey set her down on her back. The sight made him jump. Eleanor's face was as pale and gray as the rest of her, and the same black lines that trailed along the veins of her arms spider webbed across her cheeks. There were scratch marks across her face that finally showed signs they were healing slowly under slightly purple scabs. Her lips were devoid of colour, but her hair was still sickeningly bright. She didn't look any better than last time. In fact, she looked worse.

He felt an overwhelming urge to push a strand of bright red hair out of her face, but feeling the eyes of the others in the room on his back, he folded his hands in his lap and sat quietly as his mind raced. At last Poppy moved on, refreshing a cup of tea for "poor Mr. Diggory" as Dumbledore patted him on the back comfortingly. Severus watched them for a moment before returning to Eleanor's still figure. Eyes lingering on her wrists, which were still pink and purple from struggling against him, and several others trying to help, he began to run through a mental list of ingredients for a wiggenweld potion. If it was Draught of Living Death Barty Crouch Jr. had tried to make, disastrously of course, then wiggenweld would at least wake her.

But it would take time. Something Severus was not sure he had.


	33. Healing

Nursing his bleeding temple, Severus immediately sought refuge in his dungeon. His nerves were completely frazzled, his hands barely able to unlock his office door they trembled so violently. He had seen him. Seen what nature never intended to create. It truly was a sight to behold how terribly magic could distort someone into such an inhuman creature.

Sinking into his chair, hand still pressed to his head, Snape let out a shaky sigh. He had forgotten how intimidating it was to stand before a room full of wizards without morals and speak to one who would rather kill than chat. He was not happy, Snape had guessed as much before arriving two hours after being summoned, but he was intrigued by Snape's inside view of the Order, and of Dumbledore and the boy. Without such information, Snape would be as good as dead at that moment.

He felt his knees tremble, and his hands shake, and the dried blood on his sleeve was an awful reminder of the beating he took not long ago. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his mind still in shock. He would speak to Dumbledore tomorrow. The Dark Lord did not appear to suspect a thing, most fortunately, and their plans were moving along. He was, after all, no one special in the ranks of Death Eaters. Voldemort's inner circle was far from his reach, but upon hearing Severus's offers of information and proximity to the boy, he was welcomed more gently than others. But how long he could keep up the lies and protect his thoughts he did not know. One slip up. That's all it took.

Severus knew a bandage couldn't hurt, but venturing out into the castle looking the way he did with its halls still full of students would be a disaster. He would have to settle for what he could scrounge for in the dungeons. Snape did not want to see Eleanor either. The sights from earlier were enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Slowly, he trudged along to his quarters in the dark, ready for some rest. Tomorrow Dumbledore would hold a small memorial for Diggory, and soon after the students would all be off for home. He changed and glanced at his head in a small mirror. Nothing too serious. At last he settled down for the night, mind racing as his fingers ran over the smooth side of the scale.

That scar on her back. It was a perfect match. But why?

* * *

><p>With a tenuous plan laid out between them, Severus and Albus sat in silence in the headmaster's office, reflecting. They both understood the stakes in what they were attempting, the consequences of a single moment of weakness, but it was not the time for the timid. With final orders for the summer, Severus stood at last and excused himself.<p>

Poppy Pomfrey was just coming up the moving staircase as Snape opened Dumbledore's door. She smiled warily as popped by him as he stood with the door.

"Headmaster," he heard her begin, about to close the heavy door between them and slink off to his room, "Mr. Diggory has been… taken to his family. Mr. McKinney will be going home with his parents as he has recovered enough. And Miss Bristow, I've got her ready to be moved."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

"What?" Snape re-entered the office, letting the heavy wooden door swing closed behind him. "Moved where?"

Madam Pomfrey turned about with a puzzled look on her face. Her small eyes studied his face, he was sure she was staring at the side of his head that was still swollen and bloody from the night before. He unconsciously drew the edges of his sleeves over more of his hands.

"To St. Mungo's," she replied, "As you remember, Severus, Miss Bristow is not well enough to return home like the rest of us. Numbing her up with Dreamless Sleep Potions won't remedy her condition."

He couldn't explain it, but Snape did not like the idea of Eleanor going to St. Mungo's in the state she was in. They had no idea what they were dealing with, nor did they have the time to tinker with antidotes the way he could. He realized after a moment by the expression on the old man's face that he had betrayed his thoughts with the grimace on his face. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, something that always bothered Snape. He was far too nosy for a man his age.

"Unless you have a better suggestion, Severus," Dumbledore looked at his expectantly with that damned twinkle behind his half moon glasses. "I agree with Poppy that she should be moved."

Snape was hesitant to open his mouth. He had never offered to help a patient of Poppy's like this before. In fact he made it a point to become as detached as possible to anyone. With Lily gone, what was the point?

"They are very capable at St. Mungo's, Severus, you know this," Madam Pomfrey reminded him.

Snape glared at the floor, feeling a bit childish. She was right, he knew, but he didn't want to see the girl go. He could do it himself. His mind began to conjure the image of a group of healers in their sickly green robes.

Severus felt Dumbledore lay a hand on his shoulder and say softly, "You know how busy this summer will be, why not let them take her?"

It was a strange mix of stubbornness and fear that made Snape feel so apprehensive to reply. Letting someone else watch over Lily was a mistake he still paid for. Dumbledore must have sensed some of his trepidation, and crossed over to Poppy without needing a reply from Snape.

"If Severus is confident about helping Miss Bristow, and willing," Dumbledore added with a stern look, "then let us leave the responsibility to him."

Madam Pomfrey started to protest, but Dumbledore quashed her attempts with a gentle smile and reassurance. The stout woman was ushered to the door and the two men were alone in the office again. Snape was still unsure why this meant so much.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, " do not let this interfere with our plans."

Snape was a little shocked by the man's blatant comment and change in demeanor. He nodded mechanically.

"You will still be needed in the Order. You will still be called by Lord Voldemort. I do not want Eleanor put into danger, nor do I wish that of you. I trust your judgment, my friend, but I urge caution."

* * *

><p>There was a bright light. Struggling to bring the haze into focus, Eleanor tentatively opened her eyes. The world was swimming, all blurs of colour, until at last things began to settle. She was stiff, laying on her back with white sheets pulled up to her waist. Turning her head, she spotted several bottles of Dreamless Sleep Potion sitting on her nightstand, all with varying amounts of purple liquid inside.<p>

There was a sour taste in her mouth.

Stirring sluggishly, Eleanor tried to flex her fingers and wiggle some feeling into her body when she spotted someone in a chair beside her bed. Snape sat with his head tucked near his chest, eyes closed, with a thick volume in his hands. From behind the curtain of black hair, Eleanor could see dark circles under his eyes and a bright bruise or two adorning his cheek and temple.

He was so quiet, as always, she noted as she pulled herself to sit up with great effort. She watched his chest slowly rise and fall and wondered what he was dreaming about, if he did dream. Rubbing her eyes, Eleanor wondered why she was sitting in the hospital wing, which was bright and sunny as though morning had just broke, alone with Professor Snape sitting at her bedside. Where was Madam Pomfrey? The other students?

Slowly she lowered her arm away from her face when something caught her eye. Gazing down at her arm, she could see her veins lined under her skin, so dark they appeared a vivid black. Atop the network of black lines were dozens of scratches and scabs all in different states of healing. Arm shaking, Eleanor stared down in horror and confusion. Was this another nightmare?

Tentatively she touched the inside of her wrist. Her fingers brushed a hardened scab lightly before pulling away in disgust. She raised her other arm and saw the same, looking down she could see a little of her chest before it disappeared under her hospital gown and the same black lines radiated in all directions. She turned and caught sight of herself in the reflection of a mirrored box on another nightstand.

Her scream woke Snape with a start, who dropped his book with a loud thud and looked around frantically to get his bearings. Eleanor gasped for air as she began to get hysterical, ready to begin scraping into the scabs on her arms. Snape rose and seized her by the wrists, keeping her still. She was surprised how strong he was for such a willowy figure. He was staring so intensely at her that she couldn't look away.

"…W-what?" she asked, immediately shocked by how hoarse her voice was.

Seeing she had calmed down prompted the man to release her wrists – something Eleanor seemed to miss once she was freed – and gather his book from the floor.

"What's going on?" she said, fighting the silly croaking of her voice. "Where is Madam Pomfrey? Why am I in here?"

Snape seemed reluctant to answer as he lowered himself back into the rickety wooden chair. "Madam Pomfrey has returned to her family for the summer."

"The summer…?"

Eleanor felt cold dread in the pit of her stomach. Summer? Already? She only remembered taking Moody's sleeping draught, then nothing but snippets of nightmares.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked, studying her arms again nervously. The sight was enough to make her sick and send her whole body into nervous shakes.

"You've been poisoned," Snape replied simply.

"By what?"

"I've already told you, earlier."

"What?" Eleanor looked at him in disbelief, unable to summon any memory of asking these questions before.

"I told you earlier," he repeated, "and before you weren't quite this eloquent."

Eleanor drew the sheets closer to herself, feeling a little self conscious amidst the swirling confusion she tried to work through. Snape pressed a cup barely full of a deep yellow liquid into her hands.

"Drink it," he said after she hesitated.

It tasted worse than vomit flavored Bertie Bott candies. She grabbed her nose and choked it down while Snape looked on, unfazed. Making a face as the last of it slithered down her sore throat she asked, "W-what was that?"

Snape was quiet again, black eyes moving rapidly over the numerous bottles he was sorting through. Some of his fingers looked purple and the bruising on his face was much more apparent as he turned to pick something up. Again something was shoved into her hands. This time she grasped a bottle of purple liquid. It was much better tasting than the last.

His fingers brushed hers as he took the bottle from her once it had been emptied. Her skin tingled, and for some reason she found herself wanting to take his hand. Snape sat back, flipping through the pages of his book after dusting its cover.

"What happened to you?" she asked him, more harshly than she intended.

He stiffened, fingers wrapping around the hardcover of his book. "I told you earlier."

"Well I don't remember," she said, frowning. Something made her feel like he was just saying that to make her leave him be. "Tell me again. It looks like you've fallen down a flight of stairs face-first."

He gave her a venomous glare from over the book pages. Looking away, Eleanor tentatively studied the black lines on her arms. A quiet moment passed between them – a little awkward, thought Eleanor- before she ventured to ask, "What are these?"

Snape replied without glancing up from his book. "They will go away."

Groping for the mirrored box nearby, Eleanor took it up clumsily. Her body was beginning to feel heavy and weak, and she felt off-balance. Peered at her face she saw the lines were all over her face, and her eyes… Her eyes were black. She began to ask what was wrong with them, but her words were slurred. Eyelids growing heavy, she dropped the box into her lap and flopped back onto her pillows feeling drained. The world was starting to swim again, and she struggled against it. Breathing felt like too much effort, like someone had put bricks atop her chest, and she couldn't move her arms, as they too felt too heavy.

She said something to Snape, who had stood next to her again looking down with a blank expression. He looked puzzled and replied, but she was struggling to make out what he had said. Grasping out groggily, her hand fastened itself to his robes. They were rough to the touch. He bent down to hear what she was trying to say. The edges of her vision began to dim and blur. Eleanor stared up at him, looking at his dark eyes, and slurred out, "We match."

Then silence, and darkness.

* * *

><p>Snape was relieved to find Eleanor's condition improving at last. The darkening of her veins and eyes was receding. He would still have the house elves pour a little Dreamless Sleep potion into her goblet at mealtime, since every time he would venture up to check on her she would be sleeping fitfully. Once she had taken the antidote, her condition seemed to rapidly improve.<p>

McGonagall would come and stay at Hogwarts infrequently, nearly always out on Order business. She would visit with the girl while Snape stuck to checking on Eleanor only when she was asleep, or busy. When she was well enough to go about on her own, he left her to her own devices.

Snape was too busy meeting Dumbledore, and members of the Order to keep up with her for much of the summer. He would seldom pass her in the halls, and quickly flee before a conversation could be struck. He had no time for her. In a way, Snape was grateful to be too busy to cross paths with Eleanor.

One evening she had caught him off guard. He returned to the dungeons, en route to his office, when he found her sitting at her post in the classroom, reading. He had stopped in his tracks in the doorway, staring at her until she lifted her head and looked back. For some ridiculous reason, he half-imaged Lily sitting there, waiting for him. He would have run to her, but he caught himself, corrected himself this was no Lily. Still, the vision, or rather daydream, had shaken him. He dreamt of Lily often ever since he was begun his work spying on the Death Eaters for Dumbledore once again. Every small glimpse of the redhead in front of him would shake loose the thought of his childhood love and he hated it.

"Good evening," she said to him calmly.

He did nothing to acknowledge her and simply began crossing the room, making a beeline for his office door.

"Minerva was looking for you."

Stopping in place, Snape glanced at her. Those horrible gold eyes were back. All the darkness had faded from them at last and here they peered at him with renewed intensity.

"She left a message," Eleanor produced a folded bit of parchment from a page in her book.

With an inaudible sigh, he went over to retrieve it. He could feel her watching him the entire way. As he snatched the note from her hand, he glanced down to see she was reading a volume of Advanced Potions, a textbook with a worn cover that seemed just a tad familiar. Skimming Minerva's note, which announced the newest meeting of the Order at Black's disgusting hovel of a home, he began to grow uncomfortable knowing Eleanor was still staring at him.

"Shouldn't you be elsewhere," he said coldly, crumpling the note in his hand.

"It's lonely upstairs."

"Did you read this?" he gestured to the crumpled parchment.

Eleanor shook her head, red hair flying, "Of course not."

Snape narrowed his eyes and turned away, once again making for his office. He preferred the cushion of students between himself and Eleanor. Why of all places in this entire castle would she choose to sit in his classroom and read facing his office door?

Just as his hands grazed the handle, he heard her say, "I think you've forgotten something, Professor."

Turning with his temper threatening to vocalize itself he saw the black scale sitting in her palm. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as his fingers searched in vain in his pocket. Those horrible gold eyes were fastened upon him as she continued to offer the scale to him. Curiously, he felt guilty as he slunk across the room. Her accusing eyes followed his hand to the scale.

His hand stopped just before it.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

Snape was silent for a moment, "The storeroom."

"Impossible," she snapped. "It was left in my room. How did you get it?"

Snape kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to grace her question with a response.

"Why did you take it," she asked more firmly.

Biting his lip, it took all his will not to snap back at her. She grated on his nerves more than Longbottom did on a bad day. He spent his summer fixing her up to be talked to like this? The nerve of this girl, he thought. Yet, it occurred to him quite suddenly that he wasn't snapping back, as he usually did to cheeky students and the like.

Eleanor stood, visibly flustered, and stormed out of the dungeon with book and scale in hand. Ungrateful brat, he thought before a twinge of guilt hit him again. He had taken it after all.

* * *

><p>AN: Long chapter for you all. I was going to post before the weekend, but I ran into some weather troubles. We have a tornado charge right past our house - while love and I were sitting in a corner wondering why we were hearing jet engines- but luckily escaped with no damage.


	34. Go with him

Eleanor threw herself wholeheartedly into her studies to pass the time. She had decided traveling to London to stay in her cramped, dusty flat wasn't worth the trip. So each morning she would wake after a mildly restful sleep, eat breakfast, and go to the library. Afterwards she would go outside for midday to enjoy some of the sun. Often she would walk by the lake or journey into the edges of the Forbidden Forest, gathering wild grown plants for the storeroom or trying to name the birds. The late afternoon and evenings were devoted to potions. Entirely.

Clustered up in a niche in the potions classroom, Eleanor would make herself a fort of supplies and books and brew without distraction. She was alone in the dungeons, as Snape has left for the summer by now like the rest of the staff. The quiet was at first difficult to adjust to, yet after a while became unnoticeable. Her vigorous work made her more confident as she worked through more advanced books than she had time for when classes were in session.

It had come as a shock to find that Voldemort was back, as Snape didn't take the time to alert her to any events she had missed. Eleanor had found out through the Daily Prophet one morning, and nearly choked on her tea. She had spent the day hiding in the storeroom. Minerva had returned for a short stay to retrieve some left belongings, back from a business trip she mentioned, and had coaxed her into her routine again. At times she completely forgot about the Dark Lord and the happenings outside the castle, so absorbed in her potions work, until she would spot an article in the Prophet about a missing family, a break in to a wand shop, a murder.

Dumbledore had been absent the entire summer. Minerva wouldn't tell where he had gone, nor had Snape, who had seemed adamant about avoiding conversation before his leave. So Eleanor continued her work alone, crushing snake fangs with her stone mortar and pestle, chopping dried nettles into a fine, flaky mess, separating the innards of several dead salamanders. She had managed to brew a sufficient scar balm that she used on her shoulder, which had faded to a very light pink. Her complexion had returned to normal, and her scrapes had all healed. The sun she had been getting on her daily walks had given her a healthy glow.

In her own little world of books and brews, she grew quite content until she realized her summer was beginning to wane.

While waiting on a concoction in her cauldron to cool sufficiently, Eleanor busied herself with tidying up her workstation. As she swept the dried petals that had caked the desktop into her hand, she heard Snape's office door creak open. Looking up, she spotting him staring at her. Back from his summer holiday early.

"Good evening," she said plainly, not expecting a reply.

As she tossed away the dried flowers she heard him say, very quietly, "Evening."

Shocked he decided to grace her with a response, she turned back to him, wiping her hands on her jumper. Perhaps he was in a talkative mood.

He walked over to her, his usual calm gait, and held out a small bit of parchment. Her excitement diminished at once.

"What is this?" she asked as he pressed the parchment carefully into her hand.

"I need them in my office," he replied curtly before turning on his heel and leaving.

Eleanor sighed, although this had been a breakthrough in communication with the professor as of late, it wasn't much. She wondered what had caused him to retreat even farther into his shell. Unfolding the parchment, her eyes skimmed down a carefully written list of ingredients. Just another errand. For some reason, Eleanor had high hopes for what lay on the parchment, but this was nothing special.

Tucking it into her pocket, she turned back to her own potion and started to stir. Four times clockwise. Pause. Counterclockwise. Pause. A pinch of powdered deer horn. Two more clockwise stirs. Somewhere she remembered reading something about giving it a final counterclockwise stir. It was the little volume of Advanced Potion-Making she had found at the top of the stack in the cupboard. The one with the little doodle on the cover of a deer.

The smoke billowing up from her cauldron turned a perfect shade of indigo. It seemed that little addition worked well.

Carefully, Eleanor set out the ingredients she had carried in from Snape's private storeroom. Jars assorted by size, vials assorted by colour, drawstring bags of dried whatnots arranged with their strings tied tightly so nothing would spill out. Eleanor had learned that Severus was a particular man. He didn't like a mess. He liked everything just so, or he'd shoot his mouth off to announce his disdain. While he was a quiet man, he wasn't hesitant to voice irritation.

Why he was so particular about such little things when he spent his days surrounded by jars of pickled creatures and mummified organs was beyond her. Every time she went into his office she tried not to look too closely at the vast collection of jars lining his walls. True, she did not mind splitting open little creatures to pick out their insides, drain them out, and sort them into little green jars, but something about watching those gross little bodies in their jars filled with putrid jellies made her skin crawl. Snape liked the dark, which made them more foreboding than they really were, she guessed.

She ran her finger along the edge of his black quill. It was such a strange intrigue to be in a room not her own, alone. Her fingers traced the edge of his desk, feeling little grooves made from time. Curiosity got the best of her, and she tentatively pulled open a drawer as quietly as she could. Inside were bottles of ink, crumpled pieces of parchment, and a few confiscated items that were collecting dust. Nothing special, yet it was to see someone else's clutter. The drawer slid closed with a little thud, and she opened another. It was stubborn on its tracks, and jolted as she pulled. Inside was a stack of papers. She remembered these. They were partially obscured by a cluster of hastily written notes, but she could make out snippets of newsprint. Atop the mess was a bundle of dried, or dead, flowers. White lilies, from the looks of their crumbled petals and the shape of their wrinkled leaves, that were almost to brittle to touch. But having worked with so many dried plants in her potion making, Eleanor was able to scoop them up with only a tiny amount of the broken petals falling to the floor.

Why on earth would Snape keep these in his desk?

Gently, she touched the delicate petals, unable to guess how old they were. Replacing them in the drawer, she pulled up on of the Daily Prophets, whose edges had been dog-eared by their rough placement in the desk. There was a noise on the other side of the door. Fearfully, Eleanor shoved the drawer closed and stuffed the newspaper into the front of her jumper. As the door swung open, she pretended to be still adjusting the ingredients on his desk.

Snape looked mildly surprised to see her, only enough to raise one dark eyebrow slightly higher than the other.

"Uh," Eleanor tapped a vial of bat's blood into place, "I've gotten your supplies, Professor."

He crossed the room, throwing his robes onto the armchair by the fireplace. She made for the door as he sank into his chair. _Too close_, she thought.

* * *

><p>Eleanor woke with a stiff back. She had fallen asleep in the library, in probably the world's most uncomfortable wooden chair. Her back screamed in protest as she sat up, wiping a little drool from her mouth. Her books were still splayed out in front of her. Raking her hair with her fingers, she pulled at her tangles while her mind woke up. Birds were soaring outside, chirping loud enough for their songs to be heard from the other side of the intricate stained glass. The sun was high in the sky, she must have slept in.<p>

She found a crumpled piece of parchment in her lap. The list. Eleanor stared at the small, careful writing; how he crossed his t's, made his a's. It was neater than the scrawl she had found on students' work, as if he had meant to spend more time on it. Turning with parchment in hand, she made to get up.

"Message for Miss!"

The shrill little voice scared the hell out of Eleanor, and her shriek echoed in the empty library. If Madam Pince had not been on holiday, she surely would have gotten a smart rap on the head. Clutching her chest, Eleanor looked down to see Pinnet, wide-eyed and smiling, standing at her feet. He offered a small note.

"Wh-Wha?"

"Message for Miss. Came this morning, but Miss was asleep. Pinnet got it for Miss, since Miss hates the Owlery."

"Thank you, Pinnet," she sighed, grateful for his thoughtfulness. The little elf beamed before scurrying off.

She ripped open the envelope and revealed a very short note: _Go with him_.

Nothing was on the back, just those three little words. No sender, no nothing. Frowning, Eleanor shoved the note into her pocket, still clutching tightly to Snape's ingredients list, and left the library without tidying up her books. _Go with who?_


	35. The Order

Eleanor spent all day trying to figure out what the mysterious note was talking about. It was too vague. She thought about it until her head hurt. Even a swim in the chilly lake did nothing to help. So there she sat, hair and skin drying slowly in the sun, unable to decipher three measly words. The handwriting was so familiar…

But it was not _his_. She was sure after spending the past evening studying that supply list far longer than usual.

Birds spiraled overhead. Eleanor watching their dizzying flight with an arm held up to block the low sun from her eyes. Once an owl flew past, sending her scrambling for cover under a nearby oak. After her hair had dried, and the owl was long gone, she busied herself gathering fistfuls of lobelia that grew in the shallows as the lake water reflected the vivid pinks, oranges, and blues of the changing sky. As she turned to hike her way up to the castle, dripping plants in hand, she spotted someone trudging down the path around the lake to the gate.

Squinting, Eleanor could make out a familiar set of robes billowing in the wind. With a sudden moment of mental clarity, she felt drawn to follow. Dropping her plants, she took off down the dirt path after him.

_Go with him._

As she drew closer, he turned hearing her footfalls on the twigs and pebbles that were strewn along the trail. His eyes were wide with surprise for a moment before sinking into the usual cold indifference he reserved for everyone. She stopped suddenly, her feet nearly sending her flying into him as she ground to a halt. He seemed rather bewildered by her swift appearance.

"W-…where are you going?" Eleanor stammered out as she panted, trying to catch her breath.

"That's really none of your business, now is it?" he snapped.

"May I come?"

"Of course not," he said with growing acidity.

_Go with him._

"But… the note…"

"I don't have time for this," he stepped behind the gate, free of Hogwarts's enchantments.

_GO WITH HIM._

Springing forward, Eleanor ran straight at Snape and seized him by the wrist just as he began to Apparate. In an instant, the ground left her feet and she was flung into a violent, swirling blur. She clung tightly to Snape's wrist as the trip tried to force them apart. All at once she was thrown onto her back with staggering force.

Coughing to catch her breath, Eleanor rolled over on the asphalt, fighting nausea. She released Snape's wrist after feeling him tug forcefully against her. A foot away, Snape started pulling himself up, brushing bits of pavement from his robes with scraped hands. Eleanor couldn't tell where she was. There were dozens of brick row houses lined down a manicured street.

"Are you insane?" Snape yelled.

Eleanor rose to her feet inspecting her scraped elbow.

"You could have been splinched!"

"Sorry," she muttered, not used to this level of anger in him.

"What possessed you to do that, you stupid girl!" he spat.

Shoving her hand in her pocket, Eleanor produced the note and held it out for him. Snape studied it for a moment.

"No where on that paper does it say my name," he glared, snatching the paper from her.

"I just… thought it meant-…"

"Get out of here!"

"But-…"

"NOW!"

"No!" she yelled back.

Snape was livid, sallow cheeks flushed with anger, but she stood her ground. The note had said go with him, and she did. She was meant to be there, and Pinnet wouldn't have brought her that note if something were out of place, she was sure.

"I will give you to the count of three," Snape hissed. "One."

Eleanor glared back, refusing to budge.

"Two."

She could see him raising his wand out of the corner of her eye.

"Three."

Even with his wand raised at her she didn't move, "I'm not leaving."

He protested even louder, but she ignored every word he said and merely repeated, "I'm _not_ leaving!"

A noise came from down the street and both of them whipped around to see a couple muggle children riding their bikes into the dark. Severus and Eleanor ducked out of sight nearer to the row houses until they were gone. Their argument continued until the building beside them began to shake and rumble. Eleanor watched as an entirely new house slid into view beside them, gate sliding up and door whipping open to reveal a redheaded housewife with a frown on her face.

"Well, come in already!" Molly Weasley gestured at the hall behind her, "We could hear you clear from the kitchen!"

If Snape had ever been this red and furious, she had never seen it. It looked as though he was holding his breath, cheeks tinted purple, and for a moment Eleanor was afraid he might just explode. She took a step towards the door but he rushed forwards cutting her off.

"Let her in, Severus," said Molly, "Albus said she'd come."

Dumbledore. The note Snape was crushing to pieces was from Dumbledore.

The woman disappeared into the dark hallway as Eleanor followed Snape inside, trailing just behind his cloak. The hallway was dank and reeked of neglect, giving her the impression that a rat or two darting along the floor wouldn't be an unusual sight. At the end of the hall there stood a door where a group of wizards sat at a great wooden table just behind. Snape stopped suddenly, causing her to run into him. She felt the curve of his back under his thick cloak and her face flushed at once. Her fingers loosened around the coarse material as he stepped behind the door.

"You shouldn't be here," he hissed at her and tried to slam the door in her face, but she caught it and let herself in.

"Hello, dear," the redheaded woman was back, arms wide and grinning. She swept her into a tight hug. "I'm Molly."

A redheaded man just behind her offered his hand, "Arthur."

Shaking it, she replied shyly, "Eleanor."

"Pleasure," said the man as he smiled and took his seat.

Looking around the room, she noticed with cold fear that she recognized the man Snape was standing by.

"Who's your girlfriend, Snivellus?" Sirius asked quietly and grinned as Snape slid into his seat.

Eleanor spotted Minerva McGonagall entering the narrow kitchen.

"Oh good, dear, you've come," said the elder woman, who gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder before moving on.

She sighed and turned to take a seat when she spotted that familiar face looking at her again.

"Sirius," the man said, offering his hand to shake.

Eleanor wasn't quite sure what to do. No one seemed alarmed an Azkaban escapee was sitting in the room. He was a world away from how he had looked some time ago, when she had followed Snape to the Shrieking Shack and Sirius Black was still in his ragged prison clothes. Although Lupin told her he was an innocent man, she didn't feel confident enough to trust him. Tentatively she shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you."

His smile was nice enough, and he had a charming way of speaking to everyone but Snape. He didn't seem so dangerous now that he looked better fed and groomed.

Snape was looking sour as ever and seemed to be actively trying to avoid her gaze. Settling into the chair across from him, she listened to Molly and Minerva explain the Order. In the middle of their conversation, Arthur checked the time and quietly announced, "They're on their way now, I expect".

The men at the table began to explain the necessity of guarding the "you-know-what" at all costs. As Eleanor had no idea what the "you-know-what" could be, she sat back and tried to absorb what was going on the best she could. The dripping at the sink was an awful distraction. Every so often Snape would put his two cents in, sometimes giving her a glare from across the table – still obviously not pleased she was present.

"I say it's time to take action."

"...- growing stronger and stronger by the minute-…"

There was a noise from out in the hall.

"Shh! Keep your voices down!"

"-we have to act now!"

A line of wizards, and a curious-haired witch entered the kitchen. Through much scuffling and seat switching, the table was rearranged for its new occupants. Her heart sank as she recognized Alastor Moody in the group and made a point to avoid him as much as possible. There was another familiar face in the crowd and she leapt to her feet to greet him.

"Remus!" she gave him a hug as he smiled sheepishly.

"Good to see you, Eleanor," he replied, looking genuinely pleased to see her. "You're looking well. Didn't expect you here."

"Neither did I."

"Back to business," grumbled Moody, striking his cane against the floor impatiently.

The group settled down and the room fell awfully quiet. Molly Weasley left the room for a moment, making sure to close the door, before returning with a frown. There began an exchange of information about the movement of Death Eaters, the success of Harry Potter's arrival at Grimmauld Place – where they were seated it seemed- and plans for his safe arrival to Hogwarts.

"We can't afford to wait on the Ministry to make a move. Fudge is too scared to be much help."

"But we can't step too far out of line without inciting unwanted attention."

"But dementors sent to Little Whinging! Things will get very bad, very fast!"

"Yes but we can't afford to make mistakes. We have to take our time."

Sirius and Molly began to argue whether or not Harry should be allowed to know about this "you-know-what" – which Eleanor still didn't know about- causing the rest of the Order members to sit back warily. Snape sarcastically cut into the conversation only to be snapped at by Sirius, calling him "Snivellus" again.

There were light voices in the hall, and a cat's meow, that snared the attention of some of the bored members who looked rather left out of the argument currently raging between Sirius and Snape. It was all overwhelming, and with such important pieces cut out, such as the item they were so adamant to be guarding which sounded like it was currently residing somewhere in the Ministry of Magic, Eleanor found the conversation very difficult to follow.

"We must be vigilant. I hardly expect things to remain so quiet for much longer," said Remus.

The group nodded in agreement, and a few last words were left. All at once the group stood and made for the door. Just like that, it was over, and Eleanor – head swimming with broken facts – quickly tried to inch out of the tight room into the hallway with the rest of them. There were hasty goodbyes and most of the wizards were now in the hallway, and out in the night. Moody was coming up fast behind her, his walking stick making the floor jump with every stride, and she made a dash for the tail end of the crowd in the hall. She managed to plow into Snape, nearly knocking him into Emmeline Vance. Ignoring his ugly look, she turned and glanced over her shoulder as Moody drew nearer, sending her heart racing.

Snape said something, but she didn't notice and mumbled an apology with her eyes glued on Moody, who was now too close for comfort, his eye fixed on her while the magical one whizzed around. Suddenly, she felt a firm hand grip her by the arm and pull her ahead. Snape yanked her ahead of himself in the cramped hallway and, with a hand on the small of her back, urged her out of the door.

Even out on the street, Eleanor kept her eyes glued on Moody until he was gone. Her hands were trembling.

"That's the real Moody," she heard Snape mention quietly, "you don't need to be frightened of him."

"I'm not," she lied, still looking away.

A moment passed after she checked the skies before she noticed Snape was standing next to her still. He raised his arm and looked at her expectantly. Hesitant, Eleanor took his arm, fastening her fingers tightly into the folds of his coat before the floor jolted away. There was a huge rush and suddenly they stood at the edge of a dark forest, with the smells of warmed foliage penetrating the night air. She didn't notice how tightly she was clinging to his arm with both hands. He made no effort to shake her off. Finding her footing, Eleanor reluctantly let go.

Her heart pounded, there was a strange yet gratifying feeling from the contact and she was disappointed it was gone.


	36. The Pink Menace

Severus cursed himself for his behavior at the Order. That girl could get him so wound up…

He could not afford such slip-ups in control nowadays. He had to be careful, ever vigilant. His emotional state was private, as it should be. But his potions assistant could get his temper so flared up…

She had been quiet until the start of term, he had noticed. Stacks of neatly sorted books and ingredients waited for him each morning, and vials of near-perfectly brewed examples waiting each evening. He jotted down some revisions for her every now and again.

Now, as he dragged himself to that god-awful start of term feast – something he would have begged on hands and knees to put spared from- he found himself following a pink clad woman into the Great Hall. She waddled up to the staff table and, most unfortunately, settled herself into the seat beside him. Her perfume was enough to make him gag, ruining the half chewed bite of his perfectly prepared roast chicken. It was hard enough to eat with hundreds of eyes fastened upon his every move, all waiting with baited breath for an opportunity to ruin his evening. Then there was that pair of eyes from down the table that was intense enough to make his skin crawl.

Eleanor seemed pale, and rather jumpy as she picked at her food next to Madam Hooch and Septima Vector. Every now and again he would catch her glancing at him while Dumbledore stood to give his start of term speech. At the announcement of Hagrid's temporary absence, the student body let out a collective sigh. The news would certainly put a damper on Potter and his exasperating friends for a while. Suddenly, the pink woman cleared her throat in the most grating, high-pitched squeak. Slowly he turned to stare at her as she stood and moved in front of Dumbledore's lectern.

Everyone, including himself, turned and stared at the woman who had the gall to interrupt Dumbledore. The amount of pink on her was positively nauseating.

"Thank you Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," Umbridge began.

Eleanor was staring at the woman, he noted, and watched her for a while as Umbridge went on about some Ministry written rubbish. He only looked away when he could smell the reek of Umbridge's perfume assault his nostrils again. Dumbledore continued where he had left off to a much quieter crowd.

At last, when he was free to return to his quarters, he made a point of avoiding the pink monster in the halls. He needed solitude to collect his thoughts. Sneaking out on Order business would be difficult enough during the school year, but ducking out to answer dark purposes would be tougher still. He had to remain collected, calm, under control. But as he watched the redhead cross in front of him for another staircase, his heart jumped into his throat.

There it was again, that girl getting under his skin.

Snape scowled as he descended into the darker, cooler part of the castle – one so familiar and almost calming to him. This was his sanctuary, where he could toss his thoughts of his distracting assistant and that perfumed eyesore aside. So he settled into his routine. Nestled in a high backed armchair with worn arms, he read until the wee hours of the morning. When he could put sleep aside no longer, he finally allowed himself some rest.

But restful sleep was not what awaited him that evening. Jarred from some dusty corner of his memory, he was drifting through a different Hogwarts. He was young again – though as he dreamt he felt no different, as if he had never aged- and he walked along the chilly corridors bundled up in his Slytherin cloak. There in the courtyard with the fountain was a small group of students waiting for a trip to Hogsmeade. He could see James and his friends tossing snowballs at a younger gaggle of Gryffindors and held onto his book tighter. His eyes leapt to a dainty figure perched on the edge of the frozen fountain. Her red hair was vibrant against the snow.

Lily. All bundled up in a red and gold scarf, she beamed at him. Called to him. He ran to her, heart soaring. But as he drew near, the colour of her eyes shifted from sparkling green to gold.

Snape jumped awake and decided to rise for the day. The tightness in his chest was too bothersome to try and sleep more.

* * *

><p>Eleanor couldn't believe Snape had given her all of his first year classes. But after the first day was over, she could understand why. Luckily the first week boasted no victims with anything more than minor cuts and burns, but this year's newcomers were rather dimwitted when it came to potions.<p>

Some mornings when she carried in the day's supplies, Snape seemed more wary than usual. Perhaps, she thought, he wasn't sleeping well. She knew the feeling. Whenever she had the chance, she took the time to go for a morning run in the woods. It felt good to change into a fox for a while, to smell the sweet smells of the plants and feel the leaves and twigs crunch under swift paws. Several times she had run into a girl visiting the cluster of Thestrals – a Ravenclaw in the older potion classes – but took care to keep her distance. But aside from those run-ins, Eleanor was free to run in the dappled sunlight in relative solitude.

One morning she returned from her run to find Filch hammering a sign onto the stone wall by the Great Hall denoting Dolores Umbridge the new Hogwarts High Inquisitor, whatever that hogwash meant. She thought nothing of it until she started noticing the pink menace waltzing around the castle with a clipboard in hand keeping a sharp eye on students and faculty alike.

Twice she had walked past the woman only to feel her hair being pulled sharply up into a tighter bun on the top of her head.

Judging by the discussion at the beginning and end of classes, she was not well liked for going around enforcing dress code. Dumbledore seemed quite distant from the ordeal, from nearly everything that term it seemed. So Umbridge went about on her way with her clipboard in hand.

As Eleanor carried in a big sack of dried horned slugs for Snape's fifth year class, she jumped at the sight of the shockingly pink jumper on the woman entering just before her. The look on Snape's face was unrivaled.

Every face glanced up as the elder woman let herself in. Eleanor tried to sneak around the back to set the bag down.

"Professor Snape, might I have a word?" chirped Umbridge.

With great hesitation Snape replied, "Of course, madam." He stepped in the direction of his office when the woman simply continued on where they stood.

"You've been the Potions Master at Hogwarts for how long now?"

"Fourteen years", he replied coldly.

"Not many credentials coming in, were there?" Umbridge made a little note on her clipboard.

Snape simmered silently in the bluish light. Eleanor knew that while he remained stony faced on the outside, he was probably envisioning what it would be like to hex that furry jumper down her throat. Or at least she was.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, is that correct?"

"Yes," Snape sneered, his lips curling into a deeper scowl.

"But you were unsuccessful?" she asked feigning pity.

Oh the tempest brewing in his eyes as Snape stood there unmoving. "Obviously."

Eleanor bit her lip to contain her laugh. The tension in the air was palpable. She heard the Weasley boy snicker at his table.

"I see." More scribbling on her clipboard, somehow deafening amid the two dozen bubbling cauldrons. "You seem to have applied regularly for the post. Is that right?"

"Yes," said Snape quietly. The colour drained from his lips and Eleanor was sure she could spot the vein in his temple pulsing irritably.

"And do you, Mr. Snape, have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused your request?"

The woman had a death wish. Eleanor nearly took off the tip of her finger with her small silver knife as she stared at the pair, waiting for Snape's reaction to see how long his restraint would last.

"I suggest you ask him," he replied icily.

A strong smell of burning rubber emanated from Potter's cauldron, sending those in the vicinity to gag. It lingered after Snape vanished it with a quick wave of his wand. Umbridge glanced over as she questioned Pansy Parkinson, her quill gliding over her clipboard like a hot knife through butter.

As Eleanor began scooping up slugs for the class, her heart sank as she realized Umbridge was making a beeline straight for her.

"And you are…" she glanced at her notes, "Eleanor Bristow, is that correct?"

This late in the year and she still hadn't remembered her name? Eleanor nodded as she handed a scoop of dried slugs to the nearest table. Potter's potion stink was strongest over here, assaulting her nose like troll sweat.

"And what is it you do," Umbridge glanced down at the slugs, "exactly."

"Dumbledore hired me as a teaching assistant. I teach the first years, and assist Professor Snape. I am studying Potions extensively through Hogwarts."

"You were a Quidditch player, were you not? Not much of a background for a potions assistant," Umbridge pinched her lips together with a disapproving frown. "Is it?"

A blush of indignant anger burned in her cheeks as Umbridge trotted out of the room, quill whizzing across her clipboard once more.

Snape smacked Weasley across the back of the head with his book, letting out a satisfying echo in the quiet dungeon and instantly putting an end to the boy's sniggering. Eleanor grinned to herself. It was a pity he hadn't done that to the pink menace herself.

* * *

><p>Every evening as it grew colder outside, Eleanor would find Snape slipping out of his office as night fell. She would be sweeping the classroom, or cleaning out a cauldron and there would be the telltale creak and click of the door. He never said a word. Despite being part of the small Order meetings in Dumbledore's office – along with Minerva and Snape- she often got the feeling her mentor and Professor Dumbledore left out a good deal of information, such as where Snape would disappear to so often.<p>

Though it seemed he tried to keep up his intimidating front, every now and again Eleanor would get a glimpse of him hunched over looking exhausted and quite rattled. Exhaustion was something one could hide for so long.

In a streak of sheer stupidity, Eleanor snuck out on Snape's heels one night as he left. Keeping her distance, she followed him out of the castle into the chilly night air. Once out onto the grounds, she shifted into a fox to keep her footfalls silent. Snape appeared completely oblivious to her trailing behind him all the way to the boundaries of Hogwarts's enchantments, where he promptly disapparated into the night.

A little disappointed, and still very curious, Eleanor sat at the edge of the woods and listened to the creatures stirring in the dark. Some time later she decided she had stayed enough and started back for the castle when she heard a crack rattle the trees behind her. Snape had reappeared and was swiftly walking in her direction. Ducking behind a tree, Eleanor curled up in a little hollow and waited for the man to pass by. He appeared fine, albeit with a sour expression on his face, but fine. Satisfied, she followed him back inside at a distance and made for her room, body rushing with nervous excitement that she hadn't been found out.

Eleanor curled up under her covers, busy pulling her hair back before she went to sleep. Her curiosity wasn't satiated by this evening's little escapade. Where was he going, she wondered. Her eyes caught sight of the copy of the Prophet she snagged from Snape's desk - unintentionally of course - peeking out from the small pile of laundry in the corner of her room. Unfolding the aged paper carefully, she spotted the little marks beside certain articles.

One was larger and darker than the rest, as if his quill had spent some time hovering in that spot. There were stains in the paper, making some of the ink run, but the image was very clear beside the bold headline: _Potter Family Murdered, Boy Lives On._

This was the copy announcing the fall of Voldemort. She remembered seeing this same paper tossed around the Ravenclaw table when she was a student. Her father still rifled through a copy during her holiday later that year, though he claimed it was for a very interesting article on alternative wound healing for sensitive skin.

The picture showed a crumbling cottage from Godric's Hollow. Glancing over the copy below it, she spotted three names: James Potter, she remembered him as the Quidditch player from Gryffindor who was a couple years ahead of her; Harry Potter, a name everyone knew; and Lily Potter.

Lily Potter.

Ella's eyes traced the letters, memorizing them. Snape's Lily was Potter's long deceased mother. It had to fit. Voldemort's fall occurred around the same time she found him in Dumbledore's office. Her fingers crunched the pages as she shoved the paper away. The photo of the decrepit home glared at her motionlessly, except for a small plant in the bottom corner that was caught in the tiniest of breezes.


	37. Be Patient

It was sickening to see how easily that toad-faced pink hag dismissed the divinations professor in front of the entire student body no less.

Eleanor had seen firsthand the gross display Umbridge had flaunted until Dumbledore appeared to clean things up. How she was continually allowed to get away with her stupidity was a wonder to her until she heard Snape mention in one of their small Order briefings that the Headmaster wished to isolate the Potter boy from any harmful information or connections. Distancing himself from the Ministry – who were already making life a living hell for the Order- through this woman seemed like a good idea. If anything of the Order slipped under her nose, she'd be clawing for Fudge in an instant.

But everyone hated her, staff and student alike except for a handful of Slytherin troublemakers and Filch, who seemed to like everything everyone else did not. Hearing Mrs. Norris hiss at Umbridge every now and again brought a grin to Eleanor's face.

Snape had been as isolated as ever, continuously retreating to his office or private quarters the instant his presence was no longer required. He wasn't one to talk either, which had been seldom enough as it was. Ever since the Order began passing along the names of disappearing wizards and witches, there had been a sobering seclusion of the Order members within the walls of Hogwarts. Outside, those trying to bring the wizarding community to see reason were quashed by Fudge at every turn and suffered through some humiliation in their daily lives.

Dumbledore, at their last Order meeting, had mentioned something under his breath to her as she left, "Be patient with him."

At first she couldn't understand why he was asking her to be patient with a man who made every effort to avoid contact at all. But as he began to struggle with his class ingredient lists and sporadically throw detentions at dazed students she realized what Dumbledore had meant. She had not known Snape to show "stress". Typically a sour mood and a sharp tongue were expected of him. He seemed to relish in his efforts to detach himself from the rest of society. Sometimes it seemed to Eleanor he was punishing himself with his strict dress and secluded lifestyle.

Snape's eyes had a hint of redness to them, and his eyelids had darkened visibly. He was sour still, but wore an air of exhaustion greater than what she was accustomed to seeing in him. The students may not notice their teacher's deterioration, but Eleanor could. She followed him out into the night again when she spotted him sneaking out while she had been returning from the library.

The cold leaves crunched under her paws, but crumbled more silently than the litter that found itself underfoot of the man ahead of her. Of the times she had followed him on his irregular outings, she had not seen him spot her once. Unable to decide if it was dumb luck or actual stealth, she continued the ritual whenever she caught him, doing her best to keep as silent as possible.

Eleanor watched the man leave the same way he always did and returned to the castle, too tired to keep her vigil like she usually did. Her mind wandered as she trotted back in the middle of the path. Mathalda's name had been mentioned among the missing, and her new husband. She had heard nothing from her old friends. The ease of Trelawney's sacking earlier in the day rattled her nerves some, as she wasn't even a full-fledged teacher yet. What was keeping her from Umbridge's pink wrath was a mystery bound to end soon.

Eleanor, so wrapped up in her thoughts, did not change back once she stepped into the castle. Nor did she pay much attention to the footfalls down the corridors. But she certainly did notice being grabbed roughly about the middle and hoisted into the air. Eleanor let out a strangled bark and wiggled about as Filch breathed heavily in her ear. He limped down the hall when none other than the pink menace waited patiently with her petal pink lips pursed.

"Ugh, filthy animal," she exclaimed as Filch neared with Eleanor in tow.

Changing back would mean a cell in Azkaban, so Eleanor continued to try and wiggle free from Filch's grasp. The old coot was stronger than he looked.

"Allow me, ma'am," Filch growled as he turned away. Eleanor hoped he would just plop her outside in the grass safe and sound. He had always been gentler with animals.

But the pink monster was determined to ruin Eleanor's evening it seemed. Heart pounding, she watched the woman extend a plump set of fingers in her direction – the woman's words fell on deaf ears. Soon they were just before her…

Some wild instinct must have seized her in that moment and before she knew it Eleanor had fastened her teeth around those pink sausages waving in her face. The woman shrieked like a banshee until Eleanor released her. Perhaps Eleanor's deep desire to give the woman a taste of her own medicine had been what urged her to bite the woman, but instantly she realized her mistake.

"Dirty beast!" the woman shrieked as she clutched her bleeding hand.

Filch stood there stunned until Umbridge seized Eleanor by the scruff of the neck and yanked her away from him. Eleanor cried out, feeling sharp pain radiate down her back. The woman obviously didn't care how properly she was holding her.

"I'll make you part of my wardrobe you horrible little creature!"

Soon Eleanor found herself being hauled down the corridor, unable to fight the fat woman much since squirming brought on too much pain. She barked pleadingly, but her cries were nothing but animal chatter. Heart beating madly, she struggled to scratch the woman as they rounded the corner near the DADA classroom. Umbridge could get away with murder in that room with a closed door, and suddenly the idea of being her new fluffy stole, dyed some awful shade of pink, became dreadfully realistic.

Eleanor began a tirade of squeaking and barking, thrashing about despite the crippling sharpness of Umbridge's grip. Then, the hard stone floor found her paws with a jolt. The sudden thrill of freedom send her skittering across the hall while the woman behind her, shouting and shrieking, seemed to find her wand. Sparks flew off the stone floor dangerously close. Eleanor found herself cornered as a jet of green light whizzed over her head.

As the pink menace closed in – Eleanor was too shocked and frightened to move- there came another set of footsteps in the corridor. Ella knew it would be Filch and shuddered thinking of what was about to come as the woman raised her wand.

"Snape!" exclaimed Umbridge as his figure slid into view.

"Allow me, ma'am, to dispose of this animal for you," he said coolly.

Eleanor had never been so glad to hear his voice, hoarse and quiet as it was. Umbridge seemed too flustered for words as Snape strode over and scooped Ella up. She had never been this close to him, she thought to herself as she watched a red-faced Umbridge glaring at her as Snape carried her away. She perked her ears up and tried to give the woman a smirk as they rounded a corner.

Snape was silent, keeping his black eyes straight ahead. Eleanor leaned against him, wrapping her tail over his arm. It was strange to be so close. In fact, she couldn't think of a time she could feel his chest despite its many, many layers of clothing. It sent her heart racing.

He carried her down to the steps towards the dungeon, where he gently set her down.

"Be more careful," he warned her quietly and started down the stairs.

She sat there in the dark, listening to his retreating footsteps. She should change back and return to her room, she thought to herself. But instead she followed after Snape. Dim light spilled onto the dark stone floor from under one of the doors farther down the potions wing. She guessed it was part of Snape's personal rooms as she sat before the door. It was quiet in the dungeon, with only the breath of the castle and the hum of movement from the other side of the door penetrating that deep silence.

She stretched back into her normal shape and let her hand rest on the cool handle of the door. Her fingers itched to seize it and throw open the door, curiosity desperately trying to win out. But her hand was still as she contemplated what could be going on behind that door. She wondered if he was reading, as she often saw him do when he wasn't busy with Dumbledore or classes. She wondered what books he might indulge in after his tomes of ingredients and long dead potioneers had been flipped through.

Her heart was pounding in her ears.

Eleanor felt a chill and shivered in her thin jumper. Her fingers defiantly kept themselves wrapped around the door handle as she struggled to pull herself away, and she wondered why she felt so eager to remain in his company. When she finally pulled herself away and made for her own room, she felt a strong sense of regret creeping into her chest the farther she walked.


	38. Be Vigilant

Snape desperately hoped the wintry months would bring some sort of holiday for him, just a break from the constant running back and forth, endlessly playing the part of loyal servant on both fronts. The dungeon had taken on a new kind of chill as the ground above settled into a frosty state, becoming blanketed with light snows. His fingers and toes were numb frequently, but he paid no mind. In fact, Severus welcomed the sensation.

He had begun to notice his assistant watching him with the ferocity and focus of an animal eyeing prey. It was a little unnerving to say the least. She seemed so hesitant to leave and so eager to help it was beginning to get annoying. Dumbledore constantly reminded him she meant well. In return, Snape constantly reminded the old man to keep his distance from Potter, which always prompted a change of subject.

His mind was constantly absorbed in keeping everything straight between his nightly masquerading, and keeping his students in line by day. Tolerating the constant interruptions from Umbridge on her High Inquisitor business became more difficult with each little interrogation. One evening at dinner he even had the passing thought of Hagrid "accidentally" sitting on her, squishing her like a bug. The presence of such a silly thought was so rare for him, and the image so vivid, that he snorted into his goblet and nearly choked.

Severus felt fortunate that on nights when he started to nod off at his desk, Eleanor would continue her working in the adjacent room without a word. It was strange for him to feel so comfortable with another person so near at hand, but her presence never seemed to be much of a burden. He began to notice nights when she wasn't present – whether she was in the library, in her own study, or running errands- he became much more anxious. When she returned, brewing a salve for Charity Burbage's dry winter skin or a tonic for Bathesheda Babbling's stiff joints, he felt slightly more relaxed until he could feel her eyes boring holes into his skin. He couldn't fathom the reason she stared at him so much.

One evening, she returned from a quick run to the storeroom with her face as white as a sheet. Snape could see she was carrying dozens of tiny green vials.

"Umbridge wants all the Vertiserum from the storerooms."

"Did she mention what for?"

"Not at all," she replied, "but I can't imagine giving it to her will bode well."

"Dilute it," Snape replied, "Heavily. She won't be able to tell the difference."

"Let's hope not," she said as she set all of the little bottles down at her workstation with a loud clatter.

He watched her pull back her long red hair, revealing a little slice of her neck above her jumper. Her ears were pierced unevenly, he observed while counting three on one side and two on the other. He never noticed before. For that matter, he never cared. Severus dipped his quill again and began scratching out corrections all over the roll of parchment in front of him. After a moment, his eyes greedily wandered back to the redhead at work a small distance away.

Her fingers moved swiftly to uncork the little vials, pour everything into a simmering cauldron, and add copious amounts of water and sweet grass. Every so often, she would push a strand of hair back behind her ear. How peculiar it was, he felt, to be so familiar with her yet know little about her. Eleanor was carefully pouring the new mixture into larger bottles, taking great care to avoid letting anything drip down the sides. He studied her face as she worked and tried to remember if he had ever seen her distinctly before leaving Hogwarts.

Ravenclaws and Slytherins typically didn't notice each other. No real house rivalry, dorms far apart, and classes mixed. She would have been fourth year when he was in his final year, he figured. They wouldn't have shared classes. She was on the Quidditch team, he was sure, but he avoided the game frequently due to James and his motley crew. He couldn't think of a time when he had seen her before he had returned to teach.

Yet she seemed so _familiar_. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he imagined Lily in her, a cruel trick of his imagination trying to resurrect his childhood companion. But when he looked – really looked- he could barely see how he could mistake the two. Lily's lovely face had been bright with few freckles, her jaw was rounded, and her hair was a little more orange. Ella's jaw was narrower, she had more freckles, especially over her cheekbones, and tended to smile a little to one side. He noticed a small scar on her right cheek that glowed white in the low light. And her eyes…

That was the real defining feature between Lily and Ella. Lily had friendly, glittering green eyes like the colour of summer grass. Eleanor's eyes were more forbidding, like the colour of an animal's eyes, clear and watchful but dangerous. They held none of Lily's warmth.

He did not notice he had been staring at Eleanor for so long, making eye contact. She smirked a little when he straightened and shuffled the parchment on his desk.

"Is there something you need, Professor?"

Snape shook his head, unwilling to make any harsh remarks. He was too tired.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," he snapped.

A quiet moment passed again before she asked, "Do you have any plans for the holiday?"

He narrowed his eyes, missing the silence. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"No family to visit?"

"If I had any, I wouldn't choose to see them," he replied bitterly.

"That bad, huh?" she wrestled a cork onto another bottle. "I've got a few aunts and uncles, and a slew of cousins that I avoid like the plague every year. If I ever go, I get dragged into babysitting ten kids who don't know setting fire to curtains and jumping on tables is a bad thing. Every year we'll find the poor Santa figurine that Aunt Sophia likes so much shoved into some god-awful spot in the house. Last time it was the upstairs toilet, and the time before that Uncle Rhys found it buried up-…"

"Your cauldron," Snape said, eyeing the foam threatening to bubble over the top.

Eleanor hastily hoisted the cauldron up higher over the flame and furiously stirred until the foam went down. He checked the time and rose – it was nearly time for the meeting. He felt her eyes on him as he crossed towards the door.

"Bring the Vertiserum to Umbridge in the morning," he said to her.

She nodded wordlessly. She looked worried, he noted as he closed the door behind himself.

Outside the air was chilly, and small snowflakes were floating onto the frozen ground. He trudged out for the edge of the enchantments of the grounds to disapparate. He hated the snow. It was messy and made his trousers damp as he waded through the small snow banks. It was silent, not a single branch stirred in the night. It was heavy silence under a cloudy sky. He cursed when a snowflake landed in his eye. And he stumbled over something buried in the snow.

His ankles screamed in protest as his pant legs, soaked from melted snow, began to cling to his skin and freeze. He drew his cloak more closely around himself, wishing he had taken a scarf, and continued on. He was nearly to the crumbling stone gate when he felt...odd. The same sensation he usual got when he found Eleanor staring at him from across the room, or when Dumbledore watched him in the Great Hall. It sent a chill down his spine – or perhaps that was his damp shoes- and made him stop in his tracks.

Turning around, he glanced at the path he had just taken. There it was, instantly frozen with eyes glued upon him and ears perked. A red fox, covered in snowflakes. His heart pounded. Snape could never tell the difference between a real fox and Eleanor's alternate form from a distance. This fox stood still as death, arched in a pose that he likened to something spotting prey at a distance. He walked a few feet more and turned around to see the fox warily following him, head lowered. As he stopped, so did the animal beneath a bare tree. There was no moon out because of the clouds, but the snow was so white it seemed to cast its own light.

It had to be her, he thought to himself as he continued slowly. No animal would follow him so closely. Knowing she was following him at first made the skin on the back of his neck and arms sting with nervous anticipation, but after reassuring himself it was Eleanor, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm. He stopped just outside the stone wall and turned round to face the animal, who was sitting a few yards away. It looked like a snow dusted statue.

Snape stared at the creature for another minute more, seeing if it would venture closer, but it remained still and watchful. With one last look at the fox, he disapparated.

After seeing him go, Eleanor ventured off for a night run through the snowy grounds. Chilly air filled her lungs with a strange vitality that encouraged her to round the lake and skirt between the trees of the wood. It was invigorating to feel the crunch of new snow under her paws. A quick run after seeing Snape off usually lifted her spirits a little and eased the worry from her chest. She never really understood why it bothered her so much to see him go Merlin knows where, but every time she saw him slip out of the room in the evening and make for the edges of Hogwarts grounds, a little knot grew in her stomach.

Eleanor slowed as she reached the castle and glanced both ways carefully, making sure no one was in sight before slipping behind the stone staircase and changing back. She wasn't dressed for the cold and shivered violently as she pushed the great oak door open. Her hair was damp and clung to her cheeks, which burned from the sting of the cold. As soon as she was inside someone grabbed her by the shoulder sharply and turned her around.

"What're you doin' outside this time of night?" Filch glared at her.

"It isn't important," she said giving him an equally sour look.

"The Headmaster wants to see you," he grumbled, releasing her shoulder.

She didn't notice she was shaking until she had put some distance between herself and the caretaker. The password this visit was "peppermint snails" - whatever that was. She knocked softly on the door until she heard the man summon her in. His office was dimly lit, yet brighter than her post in the dungeons. His table of gadgets whirred and spun hypnotically as he came to greet her.

"Come in, my dear," he gestured to a pair of chairs deeper in his office, "There are some things I have to ask of you. Mint?"

"No, thank you, sir."

Eleanor lowered herself into her seat stiffly, siphoning the remaining water from her hair and clothes. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen, and the office was quiet. Dumbledore sank into the well-worn armchair across from her and rubbed his eyes warily.

"I'm sure you've come to notice Severus's outings," he began. "He has been quite busy."

"With the Order?"

"And Voldemort."

Eleanor felt sick at the name.

"We are still rotating members to guard the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore reminded her, "and Hagrid seems to have made some headway with our larger friends in the north. But I fear something is about to change."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore's eyes glittered over his glasses as he spoke, twiddling his long fingers. "I fear Voldemort's recruiting will shift to some of his remaining faithful who have been locked away all these years."

"In Azkaban? But it's so well guarded, so remote…"

"Severus had told me there had been talk of seeing them freed."

"I don't understand, Headmaster. Why are you telling me this alone?"

"I must ask something of you," he began. "If I am displaced, I ask that you keep an eye on Severus. You are with him most. Cornelius's little bird within our walls is bound to have me sent away sooner or later. In that time, I shall be searching for something until the time is right for me to return.

"Severus does not welcome help. You will need to be persistent. Although, I have heard you have gotten your way before," he smiled.

"I don't understand," Eleanor said with a frown.

"You will. Another thing I must ask of you is to put some time into researching Muggle methods of resuscitation and first aid, and learning more about the healing arts as your father once did."

"_What_?"

Dumbledore produced a book and pressed it into her hands. "It will be a handy skill. Things will not remain so calm for long."

"But I'm _nothing_ like my father. He tried teaching me medicinal magic and I was pretty awful at it. Plus, I can't really stomach gore," she said making a face. "I just-... I can't."

"Things can change when circumstances arise."

"Sir, I'm really not sure-…"

Dumbledore gave her a steely look, "I have confidence in you. Be vigilant, as I am sure you are. "

"Professor Snape doesn't like anyone to pry into his affairs-…"

"There is only so much a man can take, even one as driven as Severus. I only ask you look out for him. You're bound by Vow to keep his secret, and you and I are the only ones within this castle that know what he is doing."

She nodded, but her mind was muddled from the conversation. Her fingers gripped the book cover tightly as Dumbledore showed her to the door. They exchanged parting words and Eleanor found herself alone in the dark hall, confused as ever.


	39. Azkaban

Eleanor was making her way back from Snape's storeroom – checking the number of remaining vials of Veritaserum, which Umbridge had begun to fly through- with Dumbledore's book open in her hands. She had been reading carefully, but still the healing arts seemed as foreign and pointless to learn as ever. She tried a minor healing spell on a scab on her left hand and succeeded in making the wound reopen and bleed. Charity had given her a couple books on Muggle first aid, one of which contained enough pictures to make Eleanor gag and close it within the first chapter or so.

As she read a chapter on potion making relating to the healing arts – about the only thing she could do – she heard people coming up the corridor. Glancing up, she saw Minerva, in her dressing gown and ashen faced, leading two Gryffindor boys hastily down the hall.

"Eleanor!" she called out, her voice a little hoarse.

Dutifully, Eleanor stopped. The elder woman clutched her arm fiercely, catching her breath some before speaking, "I need you to find Severus. Ask him to come up to Albus's office at once."

"Of course, ma'am," she replied and watched them go.

It was a rare occasion indeed to see Minerva's hair down, and to see her so shaken. Eleanor, closing her book, decided she should hurry as well. She bolted down the familiar path to the dungeons, skipping every other step and jumping the last few. She crashed into the door, which swung open noisily, and breathlessly found Snape sitting calmly in his office.

"M-Minerva… said to go… to Dumbledore's office," she wheezed, "right now."

Snape glanced at her with a funny look before rising and hurrying out of the room. Catching her breath, Eleanor stood in the dim office until the last of his footsteps were gone. Slowly she returned to the little workroom to write down her tally from the storeroom and start another batch of Veritaserum. The room had a blue glow as a little moonlight filtered in from a small window overhead. The bottles and jars of picked limbs and organs covered most of the workroom and used to give her the creeps, but after spending so much time in that room she had gotten used to them. It was strange how comfortable she had become in the dungeon. It no longer held any horrors for her. The ghosts down the corridor in the old office did not surprise her, and the sounds of the dark did not frighten her. It was rather peaceful she figured as she lit the flame underneath her cauldron.

After chopping and grinding enough snake fangs and dropping them into the bluish liquid, Eleanor adjusted the flame to let it simmer. She made a note in her notebook to take the cauldron off the flame in an hour to let it set for another week before bringing it to a boil again. She had gotten quite good at brewing this potion from Umbridge's seemingly inexhaustible need for it.

Eleanor cracked open her book again and flipped to where she left off just as she heard steps coming down the stairs out in the hall. Her heart leapt in her chest, knowing he had come back. Eager to see what the hasty meeting was about, she leaned forward on her stool as she watched his shadow appear on the adjacent wall. Then came another.

Eleanor stood nervously and watched as Snape tugged the Potter boy into the workroom. The boy looked white as a sheet and as bewildered as she was.

"Out," Snape barked at her.

"But-…" she motioned to her cauldron before he repeated himself a little louder.

At once she ran out of the room, but she remained nearby, book forgotten in her hand, to listen. She was not proud of eavesdropping, but her curiosity always seemed to get the best of her. Unfortunately, Snape was speaking too quietly for her to make out what he was saying. What on earth could he be doing with Potter so late in the night, she wondered.

The hall held none of the fleeting warmth the workroom had with the little flame under her cauldron, and she shivered as her skin turned to gooseflesh. Seeking a warmer spot, she ventured tentatively into Snape's office, which was strangely the warmest despite its lack of a fire. Her eyes spotted his robes draped carefully over the back of his chair, the parchment left forgotten on his desktop. Every now and again she could hear raised voices echoing from the other room. Eleanor sank into a chair and began reading her book again.

Time passed, and after three more chapters Eleanor began to grow impatient. The small clock ticked away, yet the hands barely seemed to budge. She would have to start over again if she didn't turn the flame off beneath her cauldron and add the pre sliced leaves of scopolia, but she didn't dare go back until she was sure they were done. Just as she couldn't stand waiting anymore, she heard footsteps and remained in her seat, pretending to read.

Snape appeared, hastily grabbing his robes from his chair and pulling them on, "Take Potter to Albus."

"But-…"

"I've already adjusted your cauldron."

Eleanor watched him claw at his left forearm and her chest tightened.

He glanced at her, "He's in the workroom."

Eleanor stood but hesitated, staring intensely at the man who appeared to be readying himself to leave. He looked at her only for a moment, and she wasn't sure what it was she read in his eyes before he spoke again, "Go."

Eleanor nodded and glanced back at him as she left. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. The Potter boy was sitting in the ornate wooden chair at the back of the room, covered in sweat and looking rather bewildered as he ran his fingers over the chipped armrests.

"You alright?" she asked him.

He nodded, "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine."

"I was asked to bring you back to the Headmaster's office. Come along," she offered him a hand but he politely refused and followed her out of the dungeons. She did not see Snape. The boy quietly kept pace with her. As they reached the Headmaster's office, Eleanor began to notice the commotion of a group of redheads – the Weasleys – hastily grabbing packed bags and assembling in one part of the office. Harry joined them eagerly while Eleanor searched for the Headmaster.

A hand closed around her arm from behind, "Has he gone?"

Eleanor turned to see Dumbledore, wide eyed, and nodded to the man. "What has happened?"

"A member of the Order on guard duty at the Ministry has been attacked," said Dumbledore in a whisper. "It is very important you tell no one. Minerva knows. Severus knows."

"Has he gone to take their place?"

"No." The worry in Dumbledore's face was enough cause for alarm. She did not see that man get rattled often.

Judging by the Weasley children gathering around an old broomstick, Eleanor wondered if it had been Arthur or Molly Weasley who was hurt. She watched them disappear – the broomstick being a portkey it seemed – and felt Dumbledore squeeze her arm again.

"Will you wait up for him?"

"Of course, Headmaster," she replied. "But where did he-…"

"I want to see him when he returns."

"Of course," she repeated and felt him release her arm. He crossed to a portrait of Professor Everard and began speaking in hushed tones. Eleanor took her leave, shaking slightly.

Upon her return to the dungeons, she checked her cauldron, which was cooling nicely on the corner of her worktable with the scopolia leaves floating at the top. Eleanor ventured back into Snape's office to retrieve her book and found herself standing, staring at his chair for some time. Dumbledore was very troubled. Snape had left for Merlin knows what reason. She found herself very frightened by his absence, worried what kind of danger he was sending himself into for Dumbledore to be so concerned.

Eleanor found herself sitting in Snape's chair, gripping the armrests until her fingers turned white. He was a tall man, so her shoes barely grazed the floor. Time passed too slowly, but as it passed she grew sleepy. Even her anxiety couldn't keep her awake after a while and she dozed off in the chair. When she woke, Eleanor expected to hear the potions master's return, or see some sign he had come but nothing had changed. She rose to glance out of one of the little windows and saw only softly falling snowflakes drifting in the dark night air. Nothing else.

At last she couldn't stand waiting any longer, unable to bring herself to retire to bed or read more of that wretched book, and took to the grounds. As a fox, the night air wasn't as sharp and forbidding with her thick winter coat. She ran for the path she frequently followed when she saw her mentor off, eyes scanning for any indentations in the snow. Her nose caught no scents but that of the chilled wood and the snow.

Curling up at the trunk of a tree, she waited. Her eyes were glued to the spot near the stone wall ahead of her. She had to shake the snow from her coat and blink the flakes from her eyes while she watched. Perhaps she thought to herself after a while she was worrying over nothing. Perhaps he had retired when she had been napping and she was out in the cold, turning into a foxsicle for nothing. Her limbs were growing stiff and aching with cold so she stood and stretched. Hesitantly she decided to return the castle and wait a little longer with the comfort of a fire.

As she trailed back slowly, a loud crack sounded in the silent wood. Her heart must have skipped a beat at the sound before pounding the feeling back into her. She bolted for the wall and spotted a black figure moving in the snow.

It was Snape.

Relief washed over her like warm water. She ran to him, not caring whether he recognized her or not, and found he was moving with some difficulty. Tentatively, she appeared at his side and looked up to him, half expecting him to curse her for sneaking up on him. His hair covered his face as he bent over, trudging through the snow slowly, but she could see him looking down at her. Eleanor felt a hand close around a chunk of fur on her back gently and she walked alongside him to the castle's door. His sluggish steps began to alarm her the nearer they got.

As soon as they crossed the threshold into the castle, Eleanor was ready to change back, but Snape's grip on her fur was firm. Gently she tried to lead him towards the great marble staircase, hoping to get him as far as the seventh floor, but he was determined to lead them towards the dungeon stairs instead. So down they went, each step growing colder than the last. It was a miracle that Filch hadn't spotted them in the halls she thought, although she had no idea of the time.

Still Snape's hand remained fastened to her back as they reached the foot of the stairs. Eleanor turned to go towards the classroom, thinking surely the professor was heading for his office. But he surprised her and led her further down the hall, towards one of the doors she had not ventured behind. He produced his wand and the door creaked open to reveal a dark room with lumps of shadowy furniture sparsely dotting the place. A small fire jumped to life in the hearth and the door closed behind them.

At last, Snape released her and dragged himself towards the well-worn couch pushed close to the fireplace. Eleanor shook herself, making sure any melting snowflakes were free of her fur, and tentatively ventured closer. His steps slowed to a staggering halt and his hands groped through the air. Shifting to normal, Eleanor rushed forwards as she realized he was about to fall.

His weight took her by surprise as he collapsed against her. Eleanor struggled to stay standing as she heaved him towards the couch, letting him fall onto the split cushions as lightly as she could manage. For such a lean man, he sure was heavy she thought as her shoulder burned from the brunt of his weight. He was paler than she remembered, much paler. Fear stung in her chest like a hot knife when she noticed a scarlet stain on the front of her gray jumper. Hands shaking, she pushed hair from his face and spotted a large bright red mark on the side of his cheek.

"Professor?" she called softly, voice wavering. "Professor Snape?"

His eyes were screwed shut in pain. She unsnapped the clasp of his thick traveling cloak so it couldn't dig into his neck anymore and felt something wet brush her hand. There was a darkened spot on his coat near his collarbone that at first she thought was damp from snow. One glance at the side of her hand and she was nearly sick on the floor.

Eleanor's ears were filled with the sound of her own heartbeat. Her hands trembled violently as she reached for the collar of Snape's coat. "I…I'm going to look, okay?" She saw him nod slightly, giving her a shred of comfort as she fumbled with the many buttons on the front of his coat. His white undershirt was deeply stained and the metallic smell of blood nearly made Eleanor gag again. With great trepidation, Eleanor pulled back a little of his shirt where the stain was darkest and immediately brought a hand to her mouth.

"I'm going to get Poppy," she said, fighting to keep her stomach calm. As she stood, Snape's hand fastened itself around her wrist in protest. Eleanor pulled gently against him, "_Please_, I don't know what to do! At least let me get Dumbledore!"

"He will come," Snape mumbled hoarsely.

"He doesn't know what's happened!"

"Don't, Ella."

"Then let me get something to put on it," she pleaded, "I won't go anywhere else, I promise."

At last he let go and she bolted from the room towards the classroom cabinet. Inside there were pieces of linen they used for oil collecting and plant drying stacked carefully on one of the shelves. Grabbing a handful of them she stuffed them in her pocket as she frantically searched for any salves or ointments. She hadn't been aware of how badly she was shaking until she tried grabbing a couple small bottles from the upper shelves, nearly sending the whole row onto the floor. With items in tow she ran back to the other room, making sure to close the door, and rushed back to the low couch.

Snape's eyes were closed again, and his stillness frightened her. "Professor?" she called to him, unable to hide the panic in her voice. "_Professor Snape_? _Severus_?"

His eyes fluttered open for a moment and he mumbled something too quiet for her to hear. She fumbled with the labels on the little bottles scattered around her until she found the one she wanted, dousing one of the pieces of linen with its contents. Her hands shook so fiercely she soaked her knee with half the bottle. Pulling his shirt aside, Eleanor pressed the damp cloth to the wound and watched the blood soak into the fabric as she grabbed her wand. At first she was too afraid to use any healing magic she knew, afraid she would botch the spells and cause the potions master more injury. But after the third sheet of linen filled with blood she was too scared to refrain any longer.

Even after she had succeeded in knitting the wound into a large scab, Eleanor refused to leave Snape alone. She sat beside the couch gathering what little warmth the fire threw out into the room as her eyelids grew heavy. After a while, she was sure Snape had fallen asleep – looking far more peaceful than earlier- and something tempted her to look at his left arm. She carefully rolled back his sleeves until the black mark etched in his pale skin was fully visible. It was an ugly mark. It made Eleanor a little sick to look at it, but there was some morbid attraction that kept her looking for a while.

It was a terrible thing to imagine Snape amongst Death Eaters, killing for fun. Perhaps, she wondered, would it have been better if she hadn't helped him at all? The faint whitish lines of an Unbreakable Vow were also etched over his wrist, mirroring her own. She had vowed to keep his secret, and she hoped his secret was the truth. It was far more comforting to think he was simply Dumbledore's eyes and ears amongst the Dark Lord's faithful, not one of his mindless hounds participating for the thrill of the hunt.

Her eyes traced the deepening bruise on his cheek. What had he done?

He was so silent in his sleep.

His hand was cold in hers.

Her eyes burned from fatigue until at last she closed them, leaned against the couch's scratchy cushion, and counted the times she felt his heartbeat in her hand.

It was so quiet.

As soon as Eleanor began to sleep, it seemed, the door opened loudly sending her straight to her feet, wand ready to strike. "Dumbledore!" she breathed as the old man slowly entered the room. He looked her over with concern creasing his face.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up," he said to her gently.

Snape stirred and Eleanor remained standing protectively by him even after Dumbledore began whispering down at the man. She couldn't hear their exchange, only catching a few words. Dark Lord. Snake. Azkaban.

Dumbledore produced a small vial and pressed it into her hand, "I need an antidote for this, as quickly as you can. Arthur is burning through all of St. Mungo's without much relief. Don't touch it, whatever you do. "

"He needs a blood replenishing potion," she said, "he wouldn't let me get Poppy."

"Alright," said Dumbledore, " but go get cleaned up."

"But-…"

"I will look after him, my dear," Dumbledore insisted, "I need that antidote."

Eleanor looked down at Snape, who was watching her, black eyes reflecting the weak fire. She couldn't read his expression; it was softer than he usually looked. At last she left the room clutching the vial of venom. She watched it ooze and pool in the glass as she made for her quarters to wash up. Filch was sweeping the floors outside the Great Hall. It was morning. He took one glance at her and dropped the broom with a clatter and clutched at his chest. Her hair couldn't be that bad.

When she finally got a good look at herself in her bathroom mirror, she dry heaved and had the edges of her vision start to black out. Eleanor clutched the sink to keep from passing out onto the stone floor. Her hands were caked with blood, as was the front of her jumper. She hadn't realized she had been touching her face and hair the whole night, but dried blood was smeared over her cheeks and sticking in her hair.

With scalding hot water she scrubbed and scraped until her skin was red and raw but clean. Despite the dark rings under her eyes she did not feel tired. Instead she felt a great need to return to the dungeon. She grabbed every volume on antidotes she had in her room and, vial in hand, made her way back down promptly. She didn't have the stomach for breakfast.

There was light spilling out from under his door. It took every inch of self-control she had not to check on him. Instead she settled herself at her worktable, spread her books around her like a cocoon, and began to work. But her thoughts did wander…


	40. I Hate Snakes

Snape slowly made his way to his office. Days of rest made him anxious. The hole in his chest from his trip to Azkaban was healing nicely, though it did ache something fierce. He wasn't about to slow down, though. He hated being idle. He would have pulled himself up to attend the Order meeting the day before if Dumbledore had let him.

Gingerly he pressed his chest as it began to sting and pushed open his office door. Everything was as he had left it. He began sorting through papers and getting settled when he heard soft noises coming from the workroom. There was a cauldron simmering softly on Eleanor's worktable, along with dozens of vials and bottles and jars of ingredients and brewed liquids. Over in the small wooden chair at the back of the room was Eleanor, slumped with her head tilted back, fast asleep amidst a pile of books and pieces of parchment.

She looked exhausted even in sleep. Her hair was pulled back is a messy bun and her sleeves rolled up, as she always seemed to look when she was hard at work, but under her eyes there were very dark circles, like bruises. Her cheeks were flushed, he saw while his eyes traced the constellations on her cheeks down to her slightly parted lips.

He could remember her from that night. Her eyes were so wide with worry, her face smeared with his blood.

But now she was half lying in the chair – which couldn't be all that comfortable – with her hands, cut and raw looking, draped over each armrest and her red hair spilling out from her bun onto her shoulder and over the back of the chair. Snape hadn't noticed he stepped closer as he observed her in the bluish light. He saw the faint line of a scar on her cheekbone, the lines of the Unbreakable Vow they shared laced over her wrist, a large but very pale scar running across her neck. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, causing his injury to ache with wild intensity, but it went unnoticed if only for a moment. His eyes were trying to absorb every little detail, everything he had missed before that suddenly seemed to matter.

Eleanor stirred, quietly protesting the end of her sleep and stretching gently. Her eyes opened and stared at the ceiling for a moment as he hastily stepped back. She jumped the moment she noticed him, almost falling out of the chair.

"Professor!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Are…are you alright?"

"Calm down, you silly girl," he said calmly as she hastily cleared a place for him to sit. "I'm not a china doll."

But sit he did, still weakened from his injuries. He watched her collect the books and papers that had scattered on the floor.

"How are you feeling?"

"Unimportant. Have you any luck with the antidote for Arthur Weasley?"

"I'm… close," she said, those gold eyes glancing at her worktable. "Just… The damned stuff burned through everything!"

"Precisely why the Dark Lord enjoys her."

"Her?"

"Nagini," began Snape, "is the Dark Lord's snake. A constant at his side."

"You've been working around a snake for all these years and you haven't been carrying an antivenin for it?" she asked, taking him by surprise. "You're lucky you haven't needed it."

"It will be a welcome thing, I assure you."

"I hate snakes," he heard her say quietly as she checked her simmering cauldron.

"Bring me your notes," said Snape, a bit put off by her innocent remark.

Dutifully, Eleanor handed him her notebook and a few loose pieces of parchment.

"Sorry it's a mess," she admitted. "My handwriting went after I burned my hand."

He glanced at her raw fingers as she retreated back to the cauldron and started adjusting the heat, hastily grabbing a stray strand of hair before it could get singed.

"You should get some rest," he said quietly.

"I can't," she replied, "this is too important."

"Your work will get sloppy."

"I took a nap."

With a sigh, Snape returned to glancing at her notes. Occasionally asking a question or two, he neared the last page almost as stumped as she was.

"And it turned what colour?"

"Dark green. Then it burned through the table again. Honestly I thought that third reduction would do it but it's still eating through like before."

"Mint?"

"No effect."

"Betony?"

"It's in there already."

Snape bit his lip and stared down into her cauldron. It seemed the proper colour, and the consistency was just fine. Nagini's venom was a potent one and wasn't about to give up itself so easily it seemed. He gave it a system of stirs, clockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise, stop. Another handful of dried leaves, repeat, a pinch of valerian, repeat. As he measured another teaspoon of essence of dittany, Snape saw Eleanor jump out of the corner of his eye.

"Bloody fucking _hell_!"

Snape raised his eyebrows at the remark, unused to her using such language, "As I said before, your work will get sloppy if you don't rest."

"I'm not being sloppy," she yelled, clutching her left hand, "That shit burned right through the vial!"

Whipping around he saw the little vial of Nagini's venom on its side, stopper still in place, with a hole burned into the side of it and worktable. Drips of the nearly clear liquid splashed on the stone floor below with a hiss. He siphoned it up into the air with his wand.

"What kind of container did you use?" he said, not hiding the alarm in his voice.

"Glass!" she yelled at him. "It's what they sent it in."

Quickly, he produced a crystal vial and filled it with the noxious liquid. _Let's see if that does any better_, he thought. He was distracted by Eleanor's raw outburst of pain. She had sat down on a stool, doubled over clutching at her arm with reddened cheeks.

"Damn that snake to HELL!"

"Calm down," he said softly, "let me see."

"Just use the stuff," she yelled, nodding to the cauldron. "I don't care if it works or not, just try it!"

Gently he took hold of her hand and turned it over. A small cut was infected on her palm, which had begun to bleed profusely.

"Don't touch it," Snape told her firmly, and grabbed the bottle of dittany from the table. He dumped the teaspoon full into the cauldron and stirred before unstoppering the dittany and dropping some onto her cut. She hissed at the liquid's touch, and he could see it wasn't helping, but using the experimental brew seemed like a rash decision. Eleanor was getting over her rage, it appeared, but was quickly starting to panic. Her hand was shaking as she held it out for him to inspect, the blood now dripping off of her palm slowly, and her eyes grew glassy.

"It _burns_. What do I do?"

"Just stay calm," Severus said, checking the contents of the cauldron again. He reached down for the stirring rod on the tabletop.

"Don't touch that!" Eleanor yelled, halting his hand in midair. "It's got it on there."

Producing a new one, Snape continued working, feeling his own nerves start to make his hands tremble. The potion was turning a faint shade of blue and as translucent as glass. Using the concoction without testing it raw was dangerous. It was a potion maker's first rule, be certain before use. But the pain the venom was causing Eleanor, and the amount of blood pouring from her palm, stirred a rash streak of confidence in him.

"You're sure," he asked firmly, holding a small amount of the antidote up for her to see.

Eleanor nodded as she bit her lip, "Best way to test it, anyway."

"If you start to experience any side effects," he said taking her hand again, feeling her trembling in his grip.

"I'll say so. Just do it."

Pouring a little of the syrupy potion onto the wound, he watched her carefully. After a moment, the tenseness in her hand began to soften and after several minutes she seemed to relax entirely.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she told him.

Snape could see a scab starting to form and felt a rush of tentative accomplishment. Perhaps this was it, he thought. As he watched her for another several minutes – her hand now fully scabbed – she voiced no complaint. He bottled some of the serum, stuffing the stopper in carefully.

"I will deliver this to Albus," he said, standing. "Write down every step and ingredient and put the list on my desk. I will finish it."

"Yes, sir."

Snape strode towards the door and hesitated at the threshold. Looking back, he asked in a quiet voice, "You're alright?"

Eleanor nodded reassuringly and he left the room, his hands finally stopping their shaking.

* * *

><p>At last Eleanor felt the need to lie down for a proper bit of sleep. She had finished the list of ingredients and steps for the antivenin – leaving the last bit for Snape to finish himself. Her body ached in protest as she climbed the stairs making for her quarters, eyes closed part of the way, but at least, she thought, her hand felt all the better. She made a mental note to actively keep her record of never being bitten by a snake the way it was.<p>

Turning a corner, her nose was assaulted with the stench of flowery perfume and her eyes blinked by a sickening shade of pink. It was _her_.

"Ah, Miss Bristow," chirped Umbridge, stopping the younger woman in her tracks. "I'd hoped to run into you before you left on holiday."

"What can I do for you, Professor?" Eleanor fought to keep the acid from her voice.

"I'm in need of an assistant come spring. Seeing as you're the only _assistant_ here, I thought you a good candidate."

"But I'm a _Potions_ assistant."

"Nonsense," she said flashing a cheeky smile. "Now I should hope you'll arrive fresh and tidy," Umbridge looked at her up and down with her smile quickly fading. "Perhaps in something more appropriate."

Eleanor flushed in embarrassment. What was wrong with her clothes, she wondered. "I still have duties in the Potions classroom. I'm teaching the first years and-…"

"I'm sure you'll make time."

Eleanor watched the woman march off, thinking it would be somehow worth it to lick that poisoned stirring rod downstairs to get the chance to kick that woman in the ass.


	41. The Broken Bow

After the snows melted, the forest became Eleanor's evening routine. Snape would, once a week, come into the workroom with Potter and tell her to leave, so Eleanor would take to the woods for a couple hours until she was free to resume her work.

The smell of the cool pine trees was invigorating, and the crunch of dried leaves and branches freshly freed from their wintry state echoed amongst the trees. She would listen to the sounds of the birds and watch shadowy silhouettes of the forest's dark creatures slink past from a distance. At times, she felt safer behind the tree trunks of the Forbidden Forest than she did within the walls of the castle.

Often she would stop at the waterfall out by the Quidditch pitch to clear her thoughts. The pitch brought back memories of her school years on the Ravenclaw team, the Harpies team, and the National Team. They seemed worlds away now. As much as Eleanor wished to reflect on them fondly she could only think of her father's argument with her in her sixth year – Quidditch was not a proper occupation according to him – and her friends' recent lack of contact. Mathalda was still missing, Gwenog was too busy keeping her team together for a social life it seemed, and Thomas…

Thomas had a new girlfriend. The news came in a Christmas card from an old Welsh National teammate as a passing thing, no big deal. But the sting Eleanor felt was stubborn. She wasn't _with_ Thomas anymore, that was old news, what did it matter he found someone new? She couldn't help imagining what she must look like, be like. It was petty jealousy eating at her, she knew, but for some stupid reason it mattered to her to think of these things, to wonder if the girl was a Quidditch player, how long she knew Thomas, if she knew how much he liked vanilla cakes and licorice wands and sugar quills and sitting in the grass…

Suddenly Eleanor couldn't stand sitting by the water with her notebook anymore. She grit her teeth and felt an overwhelming urge to run. So she changed into a fox and took off as fast as she could, going deep into the forest. Here the trees were ancient beasts towering overhead with trunks as big around as the Astronomy tower was wide. It grew dark remarkably fast under the thick foliage and the sounds of the place began to change. One sound stood out to her, strange enough to snap her out of her mental storm and stop in her tracks.

It sounded like a bike's bell.

Peering around she found no bikes or human soul in sight. There it came again.

Eleanor leapt forwards weaving between the massive trees, hopping over their roots that trailed above ground as the sound grew louder and louder. Then it stopped. A huge creature stepped from behind a tree trunk, its footsteps vibrating through the ground. Eleanor looked up at the giant in terror as it started to reach down with its great hands. The sound of them coming together was like thunder in her ears as she dashed away from its grip. It sounded to her like the giant was laughing like a child at play as he gave chase. Sprinting for another opening in the trees, she heard the giant suddenly stop his pursuit and looked back to see he was tethered to a tree with a very large and very thick rope.

_Who on earth would keep a giant as a pet_, she wondered as she trotted away. As she put some distance between herself and the giant, Eleanor found it was getting too dark for her to be so deep in the woods for much longer. She became aware of shadows moving quickly on her side amongst the trees, growing closer. The fur along her spine bristled as she tensed, seeing the group coming closer rapidly. It was a small group of centaurs, bows held forward defensively in their hands. Having spoken briefly to one or two of them over the years, she knew better than to run. As they approached, she stood her ground and held her head low, watching the ground.

"Shed your false skin, human," said one with a dark complexion and beard.

Reluctantly, Eleanor shifted back to normal, still keeping her head low.

"We have seen you before, human. Go back whence you came, and deliver this to the betrayer."

The centaur tossed a broken bow onto the ground before her. Cautiously she reached out and took hold of it, finding the wooden bow much heavier than expected. Eleanor glanced up at the centaur and saw him turn with the rest of the herd and leave. The broken bow was much too heavy to carry as a fox, so she began to trek back to the castle as herself. _Why deliver a broken bow_, she thought. She wished she had paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures years ago, or dusted off her copy of Scamander's book.

At the edge of the woods, she emerged from the trees near Hagrid's hut and found the half-giant bent over a clump of oversized vegetables stacked on a wicker basket. He waved to her with a grin, but even in the low light Eleanor noticed he had a very swollen black eye.

"Miss Bristow! Haven't seen you in a while," he called cheerfully.

"Whatever happened to you?" she gasped, drawing closer.

"Never you min'," he said cheerfully. "What were you doin' off in the forest this time of nigh'?"

"I often take walks."

"O' course, o' course. And wha' have you got there?" He asked, bending down for a better look at the bow.

"A herd of centaurs ran into me. They asked me to deliver it."

Hagrid was shaking his head, stroking his beard with a nervous hand, "Did you break it?"

"Of course not. Why?"

"'S not a good omen to a centaur. Who are you deliverin' it to?"

"They didn't say exactly. They mentioned 'the betrayer'."

Hagrid reeled like she had cursed. "Never though' they'd be so bold…"

"Do you know who they mean?"

"I could venture a guess.," Hagrid replied, looking troubled. "Our new Div'nation teacher."

"Firenze?"

"Perhaps you shouldn't bring tha' to him." Hagrid merely shook his head and mumbled, "Maybe it's better…"

"I should be heading back in," Eleanor said, stepping away from the man, still clutching the bow.

"O' course, o' course… Jus'-… When you give it to 'im, jus' tell 'im …"

Eleanor furrowed her brow, at a loss at what the man was trying to say. "Goodnight, Hagrid," she said as she turned away.

The divination office was as high up in the North Tower as the classroom was, so Eleanor climbed up to the seventh floor making every effort to avoid Filch and any other teachers out on patrol duty. She found the trapdoor to the classroom open when she got there and tentatively climbed up. The classroom was very different from the one she had remembered from her brief instruction on the subject. The room resembled the forest she had just left and overhead was an enchanted night sky with thousands of tiny, glittering stars.

"You have brought something for me?" came a voice.

Eleanor turned and saw the new Divination teacher looking down at her. She knew him very little, but Dumbledore had spoken highly of him upon his appointment. Shyly, she handed him the broken bow, which he received with a dark expression on his face.

"That is that," he said and set the bow down gently.

"Sorry to trouble you," she said barely above a whisper.

"Not at all," he said, looking at her intently.

"I should… be heading back."

"There is darkness in your future," he said firmly. "I advise you, Miss Bristow, to act with caution."

"The stars can say that?"

"Not the stars," he said, the intensity of his gaze unwavering. "Permit me to also offer another piece of advice: it is not wise to spilt your soul thrice."

* * *

><p>"Your cauldron, Miss Bristow," Snape said coolly, snapping the girl out of her daydreaming.<p>

Quickly Eleanor pulled up the cauldron and turned down the heat before it boiled over. She had been thinking about what Firenze had said a while ago constantly. Checking her notes she added valerian root to her mixture and stirred, again letting her mind wander. _Splitting my soul thrice?_

"Honestly, Miss Bristow, if you're not going to try, why waste the ingredients?"

"What?"

"Alternating, not clockwise only."

"Sorry," she mumbled, correcting her stirring.

"I suppose if your aim is to set your hair alight or put Poppy's patients in an endless coma, you're doing a remarkable job," Snape said.

Eleanor shot him a look and poured in the syrup of hellebore she had measured out. "Well if you'd rather do it, be my guest."

"Lower the temperature," he snapped.

"I know," Eleanor mumbled, turning the heat down and setting a timer.

"If you know, then do it."

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

Snape glared at her from over the top of his book as a soft ring chimed through the tense pause. It was one of the charms Snape had put up to alert him if someone was in the dungeons, within earshot. There was a knock on the door, even and urgent. Snape quietly replied, "enter," as someone hastily rushed into the workroom. McGonagall, eyes wide, glanced at the two of them.

"Albus," she said almost in a whisper. "He's gone."

"What?" Something in Minerva's voice made Eleanor's stomach churn nervously. Snape appeared less concerned.

"Fudge has replaced him with Dolores."

"Minerva," said Snape calmly, "alert the rest of the Order of his absence. Miss Bristow, your cauldron?"

Eleanor hadn't noticed her timer going off and hastily switched it off as she took the cauldron off the heat. McGonagall disappeared from the workroom and Snape turned back to his book as Eleanor checked the draught she had brewed, which was a pleasant shade of turquoise, giving off delicate silvery vapors that swirled in the air like flowing water. The calmness of her mentor over such news struck her odd.

"Did you know?" She asked flatly. He and Dumbledore always seemed so removed from the rest of the Order.

"About?"

"You know full well what I'm talking about!"

"Of course not," Snape answered without even glancing up.

"Don't lie to me," she warned him and saw him tense, put down his book, and glare sourly at her. "Did you know he would leave?"

"It wasn't intentional."

"So you did know!"

"Albus had expected something of the sort to occur with that woman here. Fudge is growing more and more uncomfortable with his presence in any position of power."

"Why didn't he alert the rest of the Order about this?"

"I believe his intention was to prevent rash actions."

There was a heavy silence between them, more foreign than their mutual quiet and laced with assumptions. Eleanor emptied her cauldron into a large blue bottle and started to clean up her workspace loudly, meriting his attention out of the corner of his eye.

"Why do you send me out of here once a week? What is it you're doing with Potter?"

"None of your concern."

"It concerns me when it cuts my work time."

"Hardly an issue the way you've been working." Snape again put his book down, dug his fingers into the bridge of his nose, and added dully, "Remedial potions lessons."

"That's goblin piss. Why on earth would you offer Potter remedial potions lessons? I thought you could barely stand him for regular classes."

Snape was silent, an enigmatic curl on his lips and his long fingers curled around the edges of his book. A statue. Truly, his body language was a most subtle thing, but having spent much time with him she came to recognize the smallest shift in manner meant a great deal. Eleanor held up her wrist that bore the faintest lines left over from the Vow.

"Honestly, if I'm keeping one of your secrets, what's another?"

"The death of me, either way." He gave her an ugly look and pulled up his book again, flipping the pages with a sharp snap, "Occlumency."

"Occlumency lessons? Why?"

"Albus thought it wise."

"Because…?"

Snape, looking very disgruntled by now, slammed his book onto his desktop and asked harshly, "Do your questions ever cease?"

"Only if they're answered."

Snape looked livid, but after a moment replied, "Albus believes it is necessary for the safety of the Order. I assume you know what Occlumency is, so your eager little brain can work the rest out on its own. Now, would you turn off your burner and kindly _leave me be_?"

"Alright," she said, "I'll go. I suppose you'll clean my mess?"

Snape's cheeks were flushed visibly as he sat wordlessly fuming as he flipped to the next page in his book.

"Right then." Eleanor grinned to herself as she started to rebottle the remaining porcupine quills. Their usual, wordless atmosphere returned as Eleanor quietly washed out her cauldron, jotted down some last minute notes, and replaced the bottles of unused ingredients in the small cupboard in the corner of the room. Wiping her hands on her linen apron, Ella caught Snape spying on her from atop the edge of his book. She wondered if he really was as calm as he looked, and why he always seemed to be watching her.


	42. Curiosity

Snape noticed Eleanor had already arrived, her workstation had a lived-in look with bottles, corked and not, strewn about, things measured and set aside, and a cauldron perched upon its stand. Her linen apron was gone from the hook in the cupboard. Her notebook sat open on the tabletop, the water-damaged pages enveloped in tiny, careful scrawl. Yet there was no Eleanor.

Time came and went, classes dragged slowly on, and soon Severus found himself eating his lunch alone in his office having seen no hint of Eleanor returning from wherever she wandered off to. Stuck leading her classes, Snape was irritable from the rampant stupidity and constant noise the younger classes seemed to be full of. Then, the afternoon was over, and still there was no Eleanor.

Taking it upon himself to clean up her workspace – so as not to let the ingredients spoil – he found himself genuinely concerned by her absence. Severus ventured to the storeroom – even his own - and saw no sign of her. The last place he could think of finding her was in the greenhouses. So, into the stiflingly humid air he ventured, amongst the winding and spitting vines that grew over the walls and curled about the doorknobs. Pomona Sprout was watering a particularly large tentacula plant with the help of a couple third years when he ducked through their section of the greenhouse.

"Severus!" Pomona exclaimed breathlessly, heaving another oversized watering can over her shoulder and drenching the soil beneath the thrashing plant. "What're you doing out here?"

She always seemed surprised to see him venture outside the castle.

"Have you seen Miss Bristow today?"

"Who?" she asked as she pushed a student out of the way of a snapping flower bud on the tentacula.

"Eleanor," he said a bit louder. "Have you seen her?"

"Haven't seen her since this morning. She came in early. I doubt she's still here though."

Severus continued on into a room full of exotic plants that buzzed and hummed in the moist air. At the very back, near the row of monkshood and lily-of-the-valley seedlings, he found her apron discarded on the floor along with a couple vials of leaves and a pair of scissors. Fear hit him cold in his stomach.

Students were funneling into the Great Hall for dinner when he re-entered the castle, buzzing with mindless chatter and all suspiciously well groomed. Severus didn't have the stomach for dinner, let alone sitting at the teacher's table in full view of the group of Gryffindors he chastised more harshly than usual in class that afternoon. He got sick of their ugly looks. Just as he was about to fight his way past a crowd of loud Hufflepuff girls he caught sight of red hair in the crowd. Just a glimpse – he was certain - and she was gone into the hall.

He changed his mind about dinner.

Usually, Eleanor would slide into the chair next to his and quietly chat with whomever she was also beside – most often it had been Trelawney before her sacking. Today, McGonagall occupied the seat beside him, and on his left was Charity Burbage. Umbridge was seated in Dumbledore's great chair, looking very out of place and rather small, yet her face was still as rosy as ever with that plastic smile of hers and some dreadfully feminine outfit filling her out like a stout mother hen. She surveyed each table with a sharp stare, that damned smile of hers never faltering. Flitwick was closest to her, looking extremely uncomfortable as he ate – every now and again sliding his chair closer to Sinistra.

Severus knew he had seen her. Charity tried as usual to keep up a conversation with him without much luck, he had no stomach for her idle chatter. He chewed his food slowly as he searched the table before a shock of red hair peeked from around Umbridge. There she was, sitting on Umbridge's right. Eleanor's hair was pulled back into a very neat – and unusually tight – bun and she glanced over for an instant with a pained expression on her face. Umbridge leaned forward to help herself to another helping – her third – and blocked Eleanor from his view.

Something was wrong.

The instant he saw her rise from the table, he pushed his plate away and stood to leave as calmly as possible. However, Umbridge and most of the students and faculty in the hall did the same. He shoved his way past a pair of disgruntled Gryffindors as he left for the door, trying to keep his eye on the fleeting red bun ahead of him without appearing conspicuous.

She was on the stairs. "Eleanor," he called to her, catching up. Umbridge was walking beside her. "Ella!" he repeated.

She turned and stopped at once. Ella seemed relieved and frightened in the brief moment she looked at him before Umbridge took her by the arm and tugged her along saying loudly, "Come along, dear. Mustn't waste any more time."

Then she was gone.

* * *

><p>Eleanor waited until nightfall before venturing out into the halls towards the dungeon. She had let her hair down from that ridiculously tight bun Umbridge had 'helped' her with earlier and changed out of her stiff clothes and heels into her usual, more comfortable attire. Her scalp still stung even still. Ella's shoes were silent on the stones as she descended the staircase into the dark, cool dungeon, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. She had found the potions classroom empty, and Snape's office door was slightly ajar, yet he was nowhere to be seen.<p>

She _had_ to talk to him. Umbridge had prevented her from doing so all day, but she was busy overseeing detention upstairs and had allowed Eleanor the rest of the night to rest. Peeking in the workroom, she spotted a silvery bowl resting on the worktable. Venturing closer, it resembled Dumbledore's pensieve she had seen on a handful of occasions back when she was taking private lessons from him to control her animagi forms. There were dark blue strands floating in a metallic liquid, swirling slowly and delicately about in a hypnotic pattern. Gingerly, she dipped her finger into the strange liquid, feeling it at once slimy yet light as air – a slightly unsettling texture that made her remove her finger and hastily wipe it on her jumper.

There was no one around. More than once she glanced over her shoulder and listened to the castle breathe, no footsteps or voices called out from the dark classroom. Her heart clenched anxiously, yet her feet remained rooted to the ground. She shouldn't, she knew, yet here it was and here she was, alone…

Eleanor didn't even notice she had bent over, grasping each edge of the bowl which was comfortingly cool to the touch, and let her face peer through that perplexing mixture. There was a cold rush – much gentler than apparition – and suddenly she found herself in the center of a hazy scene with objects appearing out of puffs of ink-like smoke.

There was a tree, a glimpse of sunshine, and a girl smiling with bright red hair. Then a room, very dusty and neglected with sparse furnishings and cracked walls, with a boy curled up in a corner letting a tiny paper bird flutter around his hand. His dark hair fell in his eyes but his cheeks were shiny with tears. A shrill woman's voice broke the silence before a deeper voice shouted over the first with such violence it made her cringe. The room disappeared and there was a woman crouched before a small boy with dark hair with a black eye and a split lip. The school library appeared, and there was the same boy – older than before, yet just as pale and disheveled looking - surrounded by a small mountain of books. A hallway took its place and there he was yet again, beside a smiling redhead in Gryffindor robes. The sun appeared overhead and the dark haired boy – now a teen – was dangling upside down in front of a laughing crowd, the redheaded girl reappeared. 'Mudblood' echoed in her ears as the memories began to darken.

_Save your breath._

A circle of Slytherins sat around a set of leather couches with wicked grins on their faces. Among them sat a tall white blond teen with a shiny prefect badge on his robes. The room darkened and collapsed as it gave way to a more violent image. She was surrounded by shrouded figures with white masks, all looking down as the black haired teen – now a young man – held his forearm out to a man who pressed his wand firmly into the pale flesh. Dark tendrils fanned out and burned into his skin as he screamed.

He reappeared outside the Hog's Head Inn, being thrown out by the barkeep into a particularly large puddle.

_He thinks it's her son._

There was a pile of corpses in the night, and the dark figures walking ahead held wands giving off green jets of light. Dumbledore's face appeared in a burst of white light.

_Keep her safe._

There was a hallway illuminated by lightning. A man lay on the ground with his eyes open, watching nothing behind round glasses. A woman on the ground with red hair and a crying baby in a crib nearby…

Eleanor jerked backwards, toppling onto the floor in fright. They were not Dumbledore's memories she had seen in the pensieve. Her heart raced in a panic. There was no one around yet she felt a horrible wave of guilt make her stomach lurch.

"Oh bloody hell," she whispered, crawling away from the worktable and stumbling to her feet. "Oh bloody fucking hell."

Ella heard footsteps coming from the corridor and bolted into Snape's office, rolling under his desk in a hasty attempt to hide. Rubbing her knee from knocking it into the wooden desk, she peered towards the door as it swung open. Heart in her throat, she held her breath and watched a pair of shoes cross the office tentatively and enter the workroom. It wasn't Snape, this person wore sneakers and jeans. It must be Potter she thought as she tentatively crawled out from under the desk.

Now was her chance to make a swift escape. She was still shaking as she crept towards the door, unable to believe what she had just seen in Dumbledore's pensieve – the pensieve! Eyes wide, she realized Potter was alone in the room with the pensieve still full of Snape's very private memories, which she herself had just rudely violated. The office door creaked open again as the familiar rhythmic footfalls of the potions master entered the room. Her heart nearly burst with fear as she pressed herself against the wall, quite nearly sending several of his grotesque concoctions in their dusty glass jars onto the floor.

Yet he hadn't seen her, thank Merlin. Instead he went straight into the little workroom. Panic washed over her like ice water, Potter was in there! Perhaps, she hoped, the boy had more control than she did and left the pensieve alone. Almost at once there was a commotion and she heard Snape shouting at the top of his lungs. Rushing to the door, she heard Snape screaming, "Get out! Out! I never want to see you in this office again!"

As soon as Eleanor appeared in the doorway, Potter flew by as a jar of cockroaches exploded on the doorframe sending bits of glass flying in all directions. Ella shielded her face as the pieces fell to the ground along with a goopy mess of dead bugs and their preservative potion, browned by age into a jelly-like, gag-worthy slop. Fighting the urge to be sick on her shoes, she saw Severus standing with his hands clenched, white faced and thin lipped as he fumed silently across the dark workroom.

"What in Merlin's name…?" she whispered as she felt a very strange tugging at her thoughts.

"And _you_?" he hissed. "Can you not control yourself any better than Potter?"

"What? I didn't…"

"DON'T. LIE. TO ME."

Ella had never seen him so upset. She grew concerned that the pulsing blood vessel in his forehead might burst any moment, or perhaps another of his collected treasures might find itself airborne heading straight for her face.

"You did leave it out," she muttered, seeing his face flush scarlet and the corner of his mouth twitch.

"I was summoned by the Headmistress." The last word hissed through his teeth with a special note of bitterness.

"Couldn't have been that important," she said quietly.

"She explained to me that _you_ were displeased by your studies with me, and that you have requested to be her personal secretary."

"I did not!"

"Then explain to me why you didn't show up today!"

"I did show up! She keeps badgering me about helping her and I don't want to!"

Snape's eyes narrowed, and though he seemed to remain calm his stillness was betrayed by the malevolence that radiated from his gaze.

"I only helped because she-…!" Eleanor's lips sealed shut, leaving her to mutter incoherently for a moment. "Because she-…!"

"Get out."

"I didn't mean to pry! Honest!"

"I said get out."

"I'm sorry!"

"GET OUT!"

Ella remained rooted to the spot, unable to come up with anything to say worth saying. A long silence passed between them, the air heavy with tension. She didn't want to leave, but with one final look, she turned and left him alone with tears welling up in her eyes. Just as she reached the top of the dungeon steps, Eleanor was startled by a stout woman all in pink, who stood wearing a most unnerving grin on her lips.

"Good evening, my dear."


	43. Over the Line

Severus walked along the edge of the Black Lake, drinking in the abundant sunshine and gentle breeze. Up ahead someone sat in the patchy grass of the shore. The redheaded girl looked up and grinned, clutching a wand and a handful of lily petals. He slid onto the dirt alongside her, clutching his knees to his chest as he watched the petals slip from her fingers.

"Watch!" she exclaimed, producing another handful from the end of her wand and pouring them into his. Taking her own fistful, she closed her hands for a moment then threw them open to the water as a flock of tiny white birds burst into the air.

Severus watched silently as the birds disappeared into the forest beyond the lake and smiled.

"Now you try," she said, closing her hands around his.

Another flock of birds took off across the lake from the petals in his hands. He grinned and turned back to the girl, but saw only the dirt and grass she had been sitting on. There was no sign of her red hair or light gray smock anywhere. She had vanished, and suddenly the breeze became an icy gust as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. The lake turned from rich blue to black, the flowers of the hillsides died back into overgrown weeds, and he was alone.

Snape woke with a jolt to the drafty room he had inhabited for fifteen years. His eyes studied the stone ceiling as he recalled the dream he just had, realizing he wasn't sure who he had been sitting beside at the lake. He never noticed the colour of her eyes.

* * *

><p>Eleanor slumped over onto the desk, hand aching. She had been writing disciplinary notes to endless amounts of parents for the stupidest reasons – sneezing too loudly in class, smacking their lips, removing their sweater in the hallway – and her hand was about ready to fall right off. Inspecting the tip of her quill she guessed the poor thing was on its last leg as well, worn down into a jagged chisel shape that make her once-tidy scrawl no more legible than a toddler's.<p>

Glancing over her shoulder, Eleanor kicked off her heels and sighed for a moment's rest. Umbridge had her cleaning up after every mess, the remnants of pranks left by both students and staff who passively protested Umbridge's position. Though she wholeheartedly agreed with the rest of the school, she wasn't glad for the endless amounts of junk left to clean. She missed the workroom in the dungeons.

Umbridge, paranoid as she was, prevented her from taking a stroll outside the castle for such a great while she was beginning to worry if she would forget what a tree looks like up close. On her time off, Ella busied herself with reading, usually too tired to hold up a substantial volume for very long. Before bed she would read through her notebook, through the notes she had hastily scribbled after peeking into the pensieve in Snape's workroom. She didn't want to forget what she had seen. Somehow, it was important for her to memorize the little things she could recall. It was the only connection she had with Snape since. He refused to speak to her, or even look at her – often keeping his gaze on his plate at meals and the floor in the halls.

Ella had left an apology letter in his office the next morning, careful to arrive well before his normal hour, but even still he seemed upset. How stupid it was that she thought it safe to peer into something so private, she would tell herself. Yet, somehow she was glad for it.

It's no wonder he hates Potter so much, she thought. His father was just like Antony, or Romilda. She didn't know James Potter well enough when she was in school. He, like Snape, was three years ahead of her and in another house. Ella had only known him through Quidditch, and briefly at that. She wished she had somehow met Snape when he was still a student. How many times did she pass him in the hall without noticing? Or sat near him in the library?

There were steps on the stairs outside the door. Hastily, Eleanor slipped her shoes back on and grabbed another quill off of Umbridge's desk. Not moments after she had begun to write again Umbridge shoved open the door with a tiny grunt.

"Still not done?" The woman crossed the room, eyeing her kitten plate collection as she peeled a streamer from her blouse. "I had hoped you would finish that stack hours ago."

"As I mentioned before," said Eleanor curtly, "I am no secretary."

"Seems not," Umbridge sighed as she flopped into her chair.

Ella could feel her gaze as she continued to scratch away at William Selby's detention notice for disrupting class. It made her skin itch. In fact, the skin on the back of her left hand was really itchy.

"Oh no, dear," said Umbridge flatly as she snatched the quill from her hand, "not this one."

Dolores handed her a fountain pen as Eleanor inspected her hand. Raised, red scratches erupted on her otherwise pale skin. Before Eleanor could say anything, Umbridge cleared her throat loudly and snatched the finished stack of letters from the desk.

"I suppose you can finish the rest on Monday," the woman sighed. "A cup of tea, dear. With sugar."

Eleanor glared at her before slamming the pen onto the desk as she rose to fetch the tea. The kitten plates began to purr as Umbridge began reviewing the contents of an unmarked folder. Eleanor clinked the spoon against the teacup twice after stirring in the nauseating amount of sugar Umbridge seemed to prefer.

"Ah, yes, thank you dear," she said, taking the cup from Ella. Dolores peered about the room with a discerning eye, "You seemed to have done well in restoring my office. I swear if I catch another one of those beasts in this room again I'll…"

Eleanor did not hear her. She simply tuned the woman out. The Niffler that had been let loose in Umbridge's office earlier did a fair amount of damage that she was stuck cleaning. She didn't mind, however, it kept her from shadowing Umbridge while she watched the fifth years take their OWLs. The Niffler was nice enough, allowing her to lead him out to Hagrid - who had waited at the door – with relative ease.

"Are you listening?" Umbridge asked sharply.

"Yes, Headmistress." Eleanor continued to ignore the woman as the clock slowly ticked away. At last it grew late, and Umbridge's words grew fewer and far between before she dismissed Ella for the evening.

She walked the familiar path back to her quarters, peeled off her heels and stiff clothes, and settled at last into the worn armchair in the corner with her notebook. She had read the same few pages so many times their corners were about worn through from her fingers, yet she was unable to discern why it was so important for her to remember them.

Snape was a Death Eater. He had willingly gone to Voldemort, she had seen it now, practiced Dark magic, perhaps even killed someone. Yet she felt safe around him, trusted him, missed his company more than she dared mention.

Snape had yelled at her before, even thrown her out of his office before – she remembered her seventh year so clearly – but she had crossed a line now. How could she have been so stupid to invade his privacy like that? Yet she was glad for doing it. Guilty, yes, but glad. A small break in that damnable mask he wore each day.

There was a soft knock at the door, shaking her from her thoughts. Pinnet appeared in the doorway clutching a tiny tray of tea.

"Miss is awake."

"Yes, Pinnet," she sighed, glancing at the clock. She had not meant to stay up so late.

"Pinnet should go?"

"No, please, come sit with me."

The elf hesitated greatly before placing the tray before her and curling up on the worn rug in front of the dwindling fire.

"Miss is troubled," he said resolutely, inspiring a smile out of her.

"Don't I know it," she mumbled, gingerly sipping her tea.

"Can Pinnet help Miss? Pinnet can fetch cake, or sandwiches."

"No, thank you. I'm afraid food won't fix this one," she said quietly, feeling her heart sink in her chest like a stone. "Call me Ella, please. We're friends, you and I."

"Pinnet remembers," the elf said with a wide grin. "If it is not Miss's dreams, then what?"

"Ella," she corrected him.

"Ella," he repeated gleefully.

"It's Professor Snape…"

"The Potions Master! Pinnet knows!"

"Yes," she watched the elf fidget with amusement. "I'm afraid I've hurt his feelings greatly. I've apologized but…"

"The Potions Master is a very sad man," said Pinnet thoughtfully. "But he likes Miss! Pinnet has heard from Calla this is so."

"Calla?"

"Calla serves the Potions Master often. Calla is up late, like Pinnet."

"How does Calla know he likes me?"

Pinnet grinned and hopped in place, "Pinnet knows too. The Potions Master has helped Miss."

Eleanor felt her eyes fill with tears as a wave of guilt washed through her, the tea in her stomach churning uncomfortably as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. The elf took notice, his large eyes fixed upon her with pity and his ears drooping slightly as he wrung his hands on the moth-eaten sweater he called his own.

"Pinnet…wishes to help Miss," he said resolutely.

"I don't think-… hang on," she jumped up, startling the little elf at her feet. Pacing about the room, she searched for a pen or a quill and ink. The little elf watched her scribble something onto a piece of paper from her notebook with wonder. Ella pressed the page into his hand, "Can you find this? Umbridge took it from me, and I need it very much."

Pinnet studied the drawing, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the object she had rendered. "Pinnet has seen this before."

"Yes! Yes, it was here on the floor," said Eleanor excitedly. "I can't imagine where's she got it, but if you could look, perhaps you'll come across it?"

"Pinnet will search, and ask the others to help. We do not like the Pink Mistress much," he grinned mischeviously.

* * *

><p>Severus could recall the night he officially joined Voldemort's ranks. Fresh from school, he eagerly sought out the Dark arts alongside his school companions, effectively severing any ties tethering him to Lily and the rest. Whether it was a product of hurt feelings or defiance, he wasn't sure, only that the allure of unbridled magic was too strong to ignore. The purist views of the Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself, were not inherently appealing he had to admit, yet their strive to rid the world of those afraid to use their magic to the fullest, to achieve their desires as they pleased, very much empowered him to continue.<p>

How stupid he was, he thought to himself these years later, to think he could wield such power without cost. He gladly accepted the task upon his entrance, but the bloodshed broke the illusion he desperately clung to. Power, with the price of lives. Innocent lives, more so than not. Killing someone was always something much easier to picture in the mind, it is cleaner, simpler, and less devastating.

This was not the case when carrying out the deed in reality.

There was far more mess and emotion involved. Shreds of compassion violently fight their way out, until there is nothing but deepest regret and fear. Severus did not take joy in killing.

He pulled on a pair of black gloves, the sting in his forearm growing stronger, fastened a traveling cloak about his shoulders, and left as quietly as he could manage. Filch would be on the third floor now, students in bed, and Umbridge in her office. He slipped down the corridors like a shadow and left the castle, feeling great relief as he stepped onto the worn gravel path that he was not seen. Checking over his shoulder every few yards, he assured himself there was no one around as he made his way to the gate. Especially, no foxes.

Eleanor. How long had it been since they spoke last? As relieved as he was to see she was not following him, an irksome pang of guilt washed through his stomach. He was still mad at her – and Potter for that matter – yet he could not help but notice how bothered he had become by her absence, and her new position as Umbridge's stooge.

The other teachers felt just as upset with her change in loyalty, often whispering loudly behind her back in the faculty lounge or in the halls. He said nothing on the matter personally. Severus couldn't venture a guess as to why she was so willing to help Umbridge at all. Perhaps she was doing it to spite him.

Snape arrived at the gate, finding it mercifully unguarded, and exited the grounds. The dark mark on his arm burned with its full intensity now, like wildfire spreading up his arm, clouding his head. He disapparated at once, reappearing outside a little house on the outskirts of a dark, run-down town with a faint pop. With a wave of his wand, he quickly put on his mask just before a scruffy looking man in too-tight clothing opened the door for him. They made no exchange and Severus found himself within a circle of similarly dressed men in the dimly lit cottage. Despite their masks, he could tell nearly each individual apart having spent so much time around them, and found a seat beside Malfoy and McNair.

The Dark Lord appeared minutes later, strolling into the room with a familiar look of disgust as Pettigrew trailed behind him like a dog. The meeting began as usual. Severus sat stiffly in the wooden chair, still as he could manage, while his breath heated the inside of his mask uncomfortably.

"I want that prophecy," hissed Voldemort, "and I have now discovered a means to get it.

"There is a connection between the boy and I, and I will use this to lure Potter to the Ministry. It will be his hand that provides us with that prophecy, and the means of our victory."

The Dark Lord walked about the room, glancing down at each man at the table with careful precision. Severus could feel the tugging at his mind, and immediately began to produce his defensive thoughts.

"My Lord," called Crabbe meekly, "Surely the boy will be reluctant to come and hand the prophecy to us."

"Yes, this is true. To this I have decided to send one of you to retrieve it for me at the Ministry." Voldemort lowered himself into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. A cooked smile played on his lips, "Volunteers?"

Severus kept his hands folded in his lap as Malfoy hesitantly raised his.

"My Lord, I would be honored to collect such a valuable prize for you. I know the Ministry well, and assure you it will be an easy task."

"Very good," the Dark Lord said quietly.

Rookwood shifted in his seat before croaking, "My Lord, surely you remember the prophecy will be guarded. Malfoy cannot retrieve it unless the boy, or you yourself My Lord, give it to him. How is it you will get the boy to the Ministry?"

A tense silence followed the question.

"The boy has a weakness for his loved ones," said Snape coolly. "If one of them is threatened, the boy will surely come. He is rash, and Dumbledore's absence has magnified this tenfold."

The Dark Lord's smile returned, "And who, Severus, will surely bring the boy?"

"Sirius Black, the boy's godfather," he replied after a moment's pause.

Peter Pettigrew tensed in the corner at the name. Snape felt nothing for mentioning Black as bait.

Lucius nominated others to accompany him – Bellatrix nominating herself – and announced he would have the prophecy by the week's end. The topic promptly changed to infiltration of the Ministry and foreign affairs. Snape continued his meditation, blocking the Dark Lord from his thoughts as thoroughly as possible. He felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. Just a shadow on the wall waiting to be released.

* * *

><p>Eleanor hurried down the stairs as fast as she dared go in her heeled shoes as she hastily tucked stubborn strands of hair back into her bun. Breakfast had already begun, she had overslept after spending half the night pacing her room. Just as she turned the corner at the foot of the stairs, she nearly ran into Umbridge, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.<p>

"There you are," the woman sighed as she straightened her green jumper. "Once you've finished the disciplinary notices, have them mailed out and begin the new stack."

"Yes, ma'am," said Eleanor.

"Oh, and I need you to setup and supervise the Potions examination today. One o'clock."

"What for?" she asked abruptly.

"While you're in my office, do tidy up. And make sure it's locked when you leave!" The woman waddled off, fussing over her hair as she climbed the stairs.

Eleanor ate breakfast in silence, wolfing down two glasses of juice and several pieces of toast while she kept her eyes peeled for a certain someone. Snape usually ate breakfast alone, as well as lunch, so she didn't expect to see him roaming about the Great Hall. She couldn't think of why he would miss the Potions OWL exam that afternoon. Ella noticed several pairs of eyes watching her from the other end of the teacher's table.

She left without a word to them.

Instead of heading up to Umbridge's office, Eleanor decided to venture to the potions classroom to see if Snape was at his desk. There was a small crowd of students moving about the corridors preparing for their first classes, yet no one was venturing down to the dungeons behind her. Potions was cancelled for the day's exam she remembered. The corridor at the foot of the stairs was chilly, as always, and dark beyond the potions classroom door. Peeking in, Ella found the room empty, as well as his office and workroom.

Disappointed, she made for the stairwell to resume her daily drudgery when something caught her eye down the dimly lit hallway. A sliver of light shone out weakly from beneath a door down the hall, presumably the door leading to Snape's quarters. Against better judgment, she made for the door as quietly as she could manage. She listened intently for any tiny sound of life, watched for a shadow to fall over the slice of light on the floor.

Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breathing was too noisy no matter how small a breath she took. Her hand gripped the doorknob tentatively. Was it locked? She didn't dare twist it to find out, and yet how badly she wanted to. Was he alright?

There was a break in the band of light on the floor. Someone was standing on the other side.

Her heart jumped to her throat as she stood, frozen, watching the shadow remain where it was. How badly she wanted to throw open the door, yet her hand held firm in strict protest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, releasing the door handle and running from the dungeons.


	44. Conflict with the Centaurs

Ella left the teacher's lounge, unable to stand any more of the whispering behind her back as the staff waited for the O.W.L.s. to finish up. Each of them, with their fingers laced around a steaming teacup, sat watching her with narrowed eyes behind their various eyeglasses. She hated Umbridge as much as the rest of them, why would they assume she was willingly helping that awful woman? She could feel a blister threatening to form on her heel as she walked along. She was so sick of these dress shoes.

"There you are," came a violent whisper. A livid looking Umbridge stood some distance away clenching her neatly manicured fingers tightly by her sides. Eleanor's stomach sank like a stone, gripped with a light touch of fear. "Come here," commanded the woman in a quiet voice.

Tentatively, Eleanor walked over, fighting the urge to run. "Yes, Headmistress?"

"Where is it?" She snapped, spitting slightly in Ella's face. "Tell me this _instant_."

"Where is what?" Ella asked innocently, sincerely confused by the demand. The stack of disciplinary letters? The Potions O.W.L scores?

"You know full well what I am asking for. Hand it over this instant," she ordered again in hushed tones. "Or will I need to have a member of Magical Law Enforcement escort you to-…"

"Headmistress Umbridge!" chirped a grating voice. Pansy Parkinson was jogging up, wheezing slightly, the Inquisitorial Squad badge pinned to her jumper flashing in the light. "Headmistress, I just saw Potter and his friends going towards your office!"

Umbridge's cheeks reddened, "Thank you, dear. Have the Squad meet me there."

Pansy trotted off in the direction she came before Umbridge snapped her attention back to Ella, whose heart was beginning to race.

"I don't have it," she said simply.

"Don't lie," Umbridge snapped.

"I'm not! Really! I don't have it!"

"I haven't the time for this, you silly girl. Hand it over now, or you'll spend the night in a cell."

Ella realized Pinnet must have found the scale and taken it. The small comfort of it being out of Umbridge's hands was shattered when she felt the woman's wand jab her in the stomach.

"I'm telling the truth! I don't have it!"

"In," Umbridge grunted as she wrenched a nearby door open. It was a cramped broom closet, barely big enough for the two of them to stand in. A light appeared on the end of Umbridge's wand. "I have no time for this. Either you give the scale to me now, or I'll no longer be able to shield you from the wonderful law enforcement our Ministry provides. It's as simple as that," she laughed a little, her cheeks lit by wandlight into an unnerving mask of sinister glee.

"I already told you," said Eleanor, her own anger growing, "I don't have it. _You_ must have lost it."

Umbridge's grin faltered, and her hand twitched while it gripped her wand. "Very well," she sighed. "_Accio_ wand."

Eleanor's wand flew from her pocket into Umbridge's outstretched hand. A jab of fear struck Ella's chest, "Hey! What are you doing?"

"_Silencio_," Umbridge muttered as she stowed Ella's wand in her fluffy pink jumper.

Ella clawed at her mouth as she shouted in protest silently. She made for the door handle but was stopped in her tracks by a sharp shove from the older woman, who had undoubtedly gone mad.

"Incarcerous," said Umbridge dully. "You'll wait here until I bring the authorities. Don't fret, it'll wear off. Be a good girl and exercise patience."

With that, Umbridge closed the door with a soft click, extinguishing all but the tiny amount of light filtering in from the doorframe. Eleanor was stuck facing the wall with her wrists behind her back and her ankles twisted together. Fear set in, choking her silently as she tried to scream and wiggle free. Umbridge was going to report her. She was going to Azkaban. The trial would be a joke, Umbridge worked for the ministry, she knew people. Ella's breath came fast and shallow, the broom closet suddenly more cramped than it was, closing in like a coffin. The only thing she would see when that door opened would be a MLE officer with a pair of no-break handcuffs and that damnable woman smiling in her pink jumper.

What would happen to Pinnet if she finds he took the scale? Umbridge already harbored a strong hatred for the elves below the castle, she'd have him out in a heartbeat.

It was cold in the broom closet, the stone floor was freezing to the touch, leaking through her pantyhose like a puddle of ice water. She shivered as tears started to form in her eyes. They burned as they rolled down her cheeks, the only warmth in the room, falling over her lips as she sobbed without a sound. There was nothing to tell the time, not even the faint ticking of a clock. The wait simply dragged on mercilessly, bringing regret and fear bubbling up her chest with vicious tenacity. She retched a couple times from crying as hard as she was, yet was still rendered mute by Umbridge's silencing charm. Her lungs ached and her throat hurt but she couldn't stop herself.

The room was impossibly small, even in the dark. Every rare footfall outside the door was met with a violent surge of tears and a racing heart that threatened to burst in her throat. _Please, Merlin, help me…_

* * *

><p>Snape was hastily making for the grounds after hearing from Millicent Bulstrode – amid the choir of puking taking place in Umbridge's office – that Potter and Granger were headed to the Forbidden Forest with Umbridge. He had sent a small army of owls to Order members alerting them of Harry's warning. From the looks of her, Umbridge had seemed to come off the rails, posing a bigger threat to the two students than almost anything in those woods.<p>

He briskly passed a group of second years, who paled in his presence, giving him a wide berth in the already wide hall. Not sparing a moment to flash them a nasty look, he kept pace, shoes clicking neatly on the stone floor. Suddenly, with a small pop, a house elf appeared just before him, nearly tripping him mid-stride. The creature looked up at him with wide eyes, "Potions Master Snape must help Pinnet."

"I have no time for you," Snape replied sharply and went around the elf, who stood wringing his hands fretfully in the middle of the corridor.

"But Miss Ella is missing!"

Snape paused.

"Miss was supposed to return by now. Miss told Pinnet so. Pinnet was supposed to bring tea." The elf dabbed his eyes with the overstretched sleeve of his sweater that covered his shabby tea-towel toga, placing a small object on the floor to free his hands.

Snape's eyes widened as he noticed the black scale resting on the floor. "Where did you get that?" His voice wavered slightly.

Pinnet snatched the scale up, clutching it to his chest protectively, "Pinnet found it for Miss."

"Found it," Snape repeated.

Pinnet nodded furiously, ears wiggling, "So Miss can be happy again. So Miss can do potions again. Headmistress took it from Miss."

A cold hand clenched Snape's stomach. But he couldn't linger to look for Ella with Potter and Granger alone with Umbridge in the woods. He had given his word to Dumbledore to protect Potter, not Eleanor. Besides, the elf could be worrying over nothing. She could be in the library, the lounge, her room.

"Keep looking," he instructed the elf quietly, who vanished again, still clutching the scale.

He was almost to the entrance hall when something caught his attention: a small, stifled sob coming from behind the door of a broom closet. Mentally kicking himself for neglecting Potter and his friend longer, he reached for the door handle and found it locked with a couple minor charms. They were easily broken and the door creaked open.

A redhead with bound wrists quickly scooted into a corner, sobbing into the stone wall. "Please, please don't take me to Azkaban!" she cried, "I don't have it!"

Snape released the binding spell, letting Eleanor's wrists and ankles free with a soft _swish_. The girl turned to him, eyes wide with surprise before she sank back into the corner, guilt plainly visible in her features.

"Umbridge took Potter and Granger into the forest. I need help finding them," he said softly.

"Aren't you mad at me?" she stammered through her broken breathing while she wiped her face on the back of her hand.

"I put personal matters aside for Order business," he said matter-of-factly. "You can remain here, or come with me."

Eleanor shakily rose to her feet, cheeks still flushed as bright as her hair. "She took my wand."

"You won't need it," he lied. "You know the forest fairly well, do you not?"

She nodded, calming down. He gestured for her to follow and led the way to the entrance hall. He could hear her following close behind, the heels of her shoes clicking in an uneven staccato just behind his. Her presence was oddly comfortable, familiar.

Out on the grounds, she threw her heels into the grass and jogged alongside him as they made for the treeline down the uneven path.

"If you find them," said Snape, holding his wand ready at his side. "Borrow their wand and send up a signal, then lead them back to the castle."

Eleanor nodded and took off at a run, leaving Snape well behind. She was remarkably fast, he noted as she disappeared in the trees. He set off as fast as his body would allow, scanning the brush for signs of movement, or for a pink jumper. The wood was still, and quiet.

* * *

><p>Eleanor's eyes scanned the forest floor, catching sight of birds fluttering to a branch, the flicker of a small animal trailing on the ground, yet nothing vaguely human. Her feet ached from treading over broken branches and sharp stones, but it was good to be in the wood again. It was so quiet all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. Why was she here?<p>

Any place was better than waiting for Umbridge in that broom closet. But what would she do once that woman returned? She could run. Ella looked longingly to the deeper trails of the wood. She could keep running, and not turn back, and perhaps they wouldn't find her. Would anyone try?

Her legs stood firm. She couldn't go. She gave her word to help Snape search for Potter and Granger.

A tree branch crackled nearby, her head whipped around to see what caused it. Her eyes darted about, straining to find anything in the dim light. Pressed against a tree trunk, she watched a group of running centaurs come into view some distance away. They were angry, from their shouts and whoops, to the bows held over their heads it was very apparent they were riled up. They would be a danger to anyone in the wood; the students, Umbridge, and Snape.

_Snape_.

Eleanor took off, trailing the herd at a distance. She could hear a random, high-pitched shriek every now and again from within the commotion of the centaur party. They veered to the left, slowing as they scaled down a slope kicking up a cloud of dust high into the air, as Ella kept course, now gaining distance faster than the group. Her heart pounded fiercely, sending shocks of pain to her shoulders. Her legs ached to stop, but her feet flew over the brush as fast as she could will them. Looking back, she couldn't see the group as she descended down a small hill but heard their heavy footfalls.

Suddenly, Eleanor collided with something with enough force to knock her off her feet, falling onto the ground with a loud thud. Winded, she stared up at the canopy of trees as her vision swam for a moment. Her back ached brightly from the fall as she sat up, realizing she had run right into Snape, who was sprawled out on the dead leaves and dirt across from her.

Ella noticed he, too, was out of breath as he clutched the side of his chest as he staggered to his feet. Before she could say anything, Ella noticed a gray-blue centaur out of the corner of her eye. The bow glinted in the low light, arrow tip pointing down, poised to fly. She bolted for Snape, seizing him by the hip and pulling him away as the arrow lodged itself in the ground where they had been, sending a cloud of dirt into the air.

Eleanor stood in front of Snape protectively as the centaur reloaded his bow. Snape raised his wand just over Ella's shoulder, catching his breath at last. Ella recognized one of the centaurs behind the archer, the one who had given her the broken bow for Firenze. The chestnut centaur moved to the front, the light glinting off his own bow as he glared down at them.

"Humans are not welcome here," he said in a low voice.

"You have an agreement with the Headmaster of Hogwarts that students and staff are not to be harmed in this forest," replied Ella, barely hiding the waver in her voice.

"The Headmaster is no longer here, we have no agreement now," said the chestnut centaur, growing agitated. "You come here and threaten a member of our clan, then ask mercy?"

"We did no such-…"

An arrow flew from the bow of the blue-gray centaur, but Snape shattered it with a quick flick of his wrist before it could hit Ella or himself. She flinched, feeling frighteningly vulnerable without her wand. She trusted Snape, but still she felt so exposed in front of the angered herd.

"Please, we're looking for two students. We will leave when we find them," Ella explained.

"You will leave _now_!" roared the centaur, with others shouting behind him in agreement, bows held high over their heads.

Ella could feel Snape place a hand on her shoulder and gently tug her back. "We will wait for them to pass, then keep looking," Snape whispered under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear. She nodded in agreement, lowered her head and turned away from the herd with one last glance.

Walking with her back to the raised bows she noticed a moment before put Eleanor on edge. Any moment one of those oversized arrows could fly through the air and lodge itself in her back. She listened to the angry murmur of the group as she and Snape made their retreat until something stopped her in her tracks: a womanly shriek from within the group.

Turning back, she glimpsed a snippet of pink from behind the flanks of the centaurs. "Umbridge," she muttered in shock, "They have Umbridge."

Snape's expression shifted as he spotted the woman too, his hand gripping his wand tighter.

"What if they have Potter and Granger? Or…-?" Eleanor swallowed hard at the thought of the two students dead under some tree. She could care less what they did with Umbridge, but the students…

"Go!" barked the lead centaur.

"Release the witch you have there," Snape replied coolly. "Then we'll go."

The centaur tossed his head indignantly, snorting his displeasure. Another arrow shattered just before Ella, Snape's deflecting charm just barely in time.

"She stays," replied the centaur firmly.

A loud crack echoed through the trees, followed by a sharp, sudden breeze that kicked up the dead leaves. A wizard stepped forward, calmly approaching the centaurs with his hands laced behind his back.

It was Dumbledore.

* * *

><p>Snape, relieved by the appearance of the headmaster, lowered his wand. "Potter and Granger?"<p>

"Both safely back at the castle, as you both should be," the man replied, missing his usual mischievous smile. "I should like to speak with you, but later."

Snape nodded obediently and turned for the castle, noticing Eleanor still standing, hesitant to leave. "My wand," she whispered.

"Later," he replied.

Ella at last began to follow him back through the trees, leaving Dumbledore behind to negotiate with the centaurs. She shifted into a fox when they had put some distance between them and the centaurs, trailing behind him with her tail dragging on the ground. The silence between them, broken only by the odd croaks and chirping of the forest's inhabitants, was uneasy, grating on his nerves like a hot stone.

"The scale," he said quietly, "Is that why you've been working for her?"

He heard Ella the fox make a tiny whine just before a tiny rush of air erupted as she changed back to her normal form. Snape noticed her footfalls ceased and turned to see her standing with a distraught look on her face, cheeks flushed, several steps behind.

"I-…," she began, biting her lip. "She-…" Again, he noticed she bit her lip. In fact, she had done so before, as if she couldn't answer him. Umbridge must have cursed the girl. How had he missed that?

A quick, wordless counter-curse and Ella burst out, "I only did it because she threatened-… I can say it? _Finally_!

"Umbridge found it and told me it's a restricted item, and since I couldn't tell her where I got it from – you know why – she told me I could go to Azkaban. And… And I…" She had to stop and catch her breath, before continuing, much more quietly, "I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you, or anyone. And I'm sorry for before, with the pensieve. I didn't- well I _did_ mean to look, but I didn't know what was in it."

Snape silently took it in, realizing why she had been so willing to follow that ghastly Ministry woman about.

"But, it's not like you haven't done the same to me," she said softly. The words stung, but they were true. Snape turned and made for the castle again without a word, leaving Ella alone in the trees.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the long hiatus - it's been a long, stressful semester! Thankfully, holiday break is giving me some great time to write. Thanks for sticking with me! ;)_


	45. Starting Blaze

Snape sat stiffly in Dumbledore's dusty office. McGonagall was nursing a cup of tea in a large armchair, making no noise but to clear her throat once or twice. Eleanor sat across from him, having changed out of her torn pantyhose and black pencil skirt into an oversized sweater and tight jeans, the likes of which had caused McGonagall's eyebrows to rise higher than Snape had ever seen them go. Ella's hair was down for the first time he had seen in a while.

Dumbledore's voice jarred him from staring at her once again.

"I am grieved to say Sirius Black has been killed," the old man said, prompting little more than surprise out of Severus, "but the rest of the Order who arrived at the Ministry were able to drive away the threat, and return the students here safely."

"And the prophecy?" asked McGonagall.

"Gone. No longer a worry for anyone." Dumbledore sighed, sitting back in his chair as he wiped his glasses on the sleeve of his robes.

"We can assume the Dark Lord will be more bold in his attacks now that the Ministry is aware of his presence," said Snape.

Dumbledore nodded, "We will be on the defensive until Tom's actions become more apparent."

"And the others recover," mumbled McGonagall.

Dumbledore gazed at McGonagall sharply, "Indeed." The woman had only just returned from St. Mungo's, and despite her fervent reassurances, Minerva still seemed rather fragile.

Snape shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his legs aching from the run in the wood the night before – something he was not accustomed to doing. At that it seemed it had been for nothing. Potter and Granger had been at the Department of Mysteries in London the entire time. He cursed the two silently, having accidentally tuned out the rest of what Dumbledore had to say. Unphased, as he was sure to hear a repeat of it sooner or later, Snape watched Dumbledore escort McGonagall to the door – who weakly protested the help, threatening to bash Albus with her cane – and return to his desk with a sigh.

Eleanor leaned forward on the edge of her chair, looking expectantly at the headmaster.

"I'm afraid she lost your wand, Eleanor," he said gently. Snape saw her shoulders slump, her frown deepen.

The girl dug her nails into the armrest, "And Umbridge?"

"She is downstairs with Poppy, quite shaken by her ordeal it would seem," Dumbledore let a wisp of a grin pass on his lips, "and a small memory charm, I believe, has put things in order. You don't need to worry."

Snape watched Ella breathe at last.

"However, I have been asked to keep my students and staff out of the Forbidden Forest by Bane and his clan in return," Dumbledore's gaze rested harshly on the redhead. "They will not be as welcoming next time."

"_Welcoming_?" Ella scoffed, face reddening. Her anger was practically palpable. Dolores Umbridge in exchange for the freedom to roam the Forbidden Forest, a deal that struck her undoubtedly hard. He couldn't remember the last time he caught her sneaking out for a stroll. "She locked me in a bloody broom closet!"

Dumbledore cut off her protest with a wave of his hand.

"I will see the both of you another time," said Dumbledore warily, "I think a good night's sleep is something all of us could use."

Snape rose stiffly, his knees threatening to give out, and made for the door with Eleanor close behind. He paused just outside the door, hearing Dumbledore speak to Eleanor quietly.

"I am hoping you will stay," he said.

"If I'm needed," she replied.

"More than you know," Dumbledore whispered. "If you should choose, if you don't feel prepared-…"

Snape caught Ella glancing at him, the eye contact sending his stomach into a spiral, as brief as it was. His chest burned as he backed out of sight.

"I understand the risks," she whispered. "I want… I want to help."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Snape heard her footsteps grow near and leapt onto the staircase, skipping down a few stairs to appear unconcerned. _Don't look back, just don't look at her. _He clenched his hand, flexed his fingers, trying to rid himself of the itch. At last the griffin's wings swung away and the portal to the corridor was open for him to speed through. His strides were as long and quick as his sore legs would allow. Anything to put distance between himself and Ella.

* * *

><p>Eleanor quickly realized why Muggles were so cross when they traveled. Everything about packing without magic <em>sucked<em>. Even with Pinnet's help – spending every moment chatting endlessly – Ella couldn't remember is she had packed everything she wanted, could barely fit enough clothes for a week (no undetectable extension charm), and found her bag to be more like a sack of rocks than clothes. How Muggles could lug around a suitcase like this, without a lightening charm, was beyond her.

Without her wand, she couldn't use any shrinking charms to fit her beloved broomstick or more than two books. Wandless travel _sucked_.

She sat back looking at her messy room, Pinnet having finally left for kitchen duty, and wondered what to do next. She would have to take the train to London, and then walk home. Or worse, try her hand at Muggle transportation. She didn't have any non-magical currency with her, which put a taxi or tube ticket out of her options. If the Floo networks were up, she could try that she realized, and thought it a better option than cramming in a compartment on the train with a bunch of talkative students.

When it came time, Eleanor dragged her luggage out of her room, feeling her shoulder start to burn in protest. Once or twice her long hair, despite the messy bun she forced it into, caught on the strap of her bag, giving her head a good tug. Dumbledore had offered his fireplace and Floo powder, being one of the first fireplaces unlocked from Umbridge's surveillance. While everyone in the castle was making their way downstairs towards the train station, here she was dragging her two-ton bag up several flights of stairs.

Eleanor recalled her talk with Dumbledore earlier. She had asked to speak with him shortly before Umbridge replaced him, and thankfully he had remembered. What he had said, however, still resonated sourly.

She cursed Umbridge again under her breath as she waited for Dumbledore's staircase to shift open for her. Just as it swung into place, a pair of black shoes appeared just before her.

A tense silence passed between them.

"Have a good holiday, Professor," Ella said at last, forcing a smile.

"Albus has gone, but instructed me to assure you the Floo network is up for your use," he said coldly.

"T-thank you," she said awkwardly, trying to shift her bag around on her already sore shoulder.

He walked away without another word, brushing past with an unyielding mask of calm indifference. Perhaps he was still mad. He had every right to be, she figured as she rode the staircase up, but she had hoped for that to change, stupidly. Did she really expect a simple apology would make up for it?

Eleanor stepped into Dumbledore's quiet office, making a beeline for his fireplace. Her eyes lingered on the pensieve, which sat tucked away in a tidy glass case. If it had been out, she would have been sorely tempted to kick the thing right onto the floor. Her fingers gripped a handful of Floo powder, and she tried to think of the nearest fireplace to home, shutting the pensieve out of her mind.

* * *

><p>Voldemort and his Death Eaters struck quicker than anyone in the Order expected. The disappearances and 'mysterious' murders were making both the wizarding and Muggle population nervous.<p>

Eleanor had watched Snape at their recent Order meeting – in the dusty house on Grimmauld – noting the dark circles under his eyes were much more vibrant than at the end of term. In fact, nearly everyone seemed to be missing sleep over the new issues unfolding now that the Dark Lord and his followers were out of the shadows. Remus appeared particularly jittery, wringing his hands and speaking in hasty, short sentences.

"We cannot take his threat lightly," said Lupin. "The moment we lower our guard, or give in, is the moment we see disaster."

"Fudge is ready to step down," replied Arthur, more calmly than the man opposite him. "He's not about to threaten the lives of countless Muggles to keep on a job he fears. He's lost it, everyone at work knows."

"Yes, but for him to step down is a sign of weakness," Lupin insisted. "A sign we cannot show these people."

"Security's been expanded," offered Tonks. "Maybe it's an empty threat?"

"It is never an _empty threat_," Lupin snapped.

A tense silence passed, no one even bothering the drinks on the table, leaving the condensation to drip down the sides of the glasses like tears.

"They are targeting people, important people," Lupin continued. "Severus has explained this. We need to actively protect these people, to prevent any footholds."

"Everything comes down to the Ministry. Everyone will be looking to it for strength," said Molly.

"That is it's greatest weakness," said Eleanor softly. All eyes turned to her, as she seldom spoke in Order meetings, and suddenly she felt a sickening twinge of stage fright. "People are too…. trusting."

Eleanor noted Snape raised an eyebrow, a gesture of blatant, silent sarcasm.

"She's right," said Tonks. "We can't put all our cards on the Ministry. And we certainly can't protect everyone."

"Dumbledore would agree," nodded Arthur. "As do I."

"Things are going to get much worse," warned Lupin. "We still need to decide on how to move Harry from Little Whinging at summer's end."

"A matter for another time," said Snape.

"Have you no leads on anything to come?" asked Lupin.

"Most of these attacks are carried out by small groups, even a pair of wizards, and are not discussed beforehand," Snape replied.

"No warning," said Arthur, frowning deeply as Molly gripped his arm.

Not long after the meeting, Eleanor found herself curled up on her overstuffed couch, clutching a mug of hot cocoa with the tiny Muggle television her apartment had come with. The images that kept flashing in between intervals of a short, dark haired reporter speaking in a crimson blazer were of the Brockdale Bridge. The structure had collapsed, sending countless lives plummeting into the river below, the death toll still tallying. Despite Fudge's resignation, and subsequent replacement, Voldemort had still destroyed the bridge – during the middle of the day, no less. There were no rules in this game.

Eleanor hugged a pillow closer to her chest – cocoa forgotten on the coffee table – as she watched the Muggle newscaster. The rain had started to pour outside, beating against the thin windowpanes in a swift tattoo that started to drown out the news report. It was all the same chatter to her, it had been on for days dominating the newspapers and telly news alike. Before that it was the disappearances, and the unexplainable, and seemingly random, accidents.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of black appeared just outside the window, flittering in and out of sight like a great fish. The instant it disappeared, there came a great boom erupting from the other end of the building, her flat shook violently in its wake. Eleanor bolted to her feet as the lights swayed around her and books came tumbling off the shelf as if caught in a miniature earthquake. Peering out the window, she couldn't see anything but the rain and usual cityscape, until there again she spotted a flicker of black swimming out from down the street barreling straight for her building. The second hit was greater, her flat violently shuddering – the mug on the coffee table broke on the floor as the tv went out – and a faint, shrill alarm starting to pierce the air as Eleanor realized the flat at the end of her floor was on fire.

Grabbing her new wand – to which she was still adjusting – Eleanor summoned a rucksack from the hooks by the door and cast an undetectable expansion charm as quickly as she could. Ella tried to whip as many things into the air and into her bag as she could, sliding on a pair of shoes before the thick, black smoke began to creep under her door. The air became hazy, darkening the few lights on in the flat like a storm cloud covering the sun. She didn't even think to grab an umbrella or the wellies that stood neatly by the door. Another explosion rocked the structure followed by a symphony of shattering glass, driving her flight instinct to its peak.

The corridor was a smoking mess, and as soon as Ella whipped open her door, she was enveloped in the thick, burning cloud and assaulted by the piercing cry of the fire alarm overhead. What struck her odd, besides the bright flames lapping out from number 314, was seeing the hall empty – was no one trying to get out?

Ella tried desperately to use an aquamenti charm on the blaze that began to eat its way through the door and wall at the end of the hall. She traced the s-shape dozens of times, water weakly pouring onto the flames, yet it disappeared in a loud hiss of vapor and the blaze seemed to strengthen.

Going up to her immediate neighbors' door, Ella zapped the lock open and called out. The smoke had just started to fill the few feet near the ceiling. No one was home, it seemed. _Thank Merlin._

The next two doors revealed no one else but a small dog that whined at the alarm's incessant shrieking. Ella scooped up the dog and bolted for the stairwell, unable to stand breathing the putrid hot air any longer. A cat was arched up in a corner of the stairwell a flight below, and Ella snatched him up too as she raced downward, skipping a step every so often in her haste to escape.

Outside, residents of her building her gathering, huddling under whatever makeshift cover they could find from the rain while watching the building burn.

"Nibbles!" yelled a little girl, running up to Ella. She scooped the cat – now very wet and upset, claws outstretched – into her arms and buried her face in his soaked fur. "Thank you!"

Ella smiled weakly for a moment before an older couple came up claiming the dog belonged to a woman who was out. They took 'Charlie' and promised to return him as he licked their worried faces.

Was it an explosion? A grease fire? Ella could hear the others mumbling their theories on the fire's origin in a buzzing hysteria as the flames spread rapidly. She coughed and wiped the rainwater and soot from her face the best she could before a hand touched her shoulder. She had time to look up for a moment before she vanished.


	46. Spinner's End Inn

Three calming draughts and two bottles of water later, Eleanor's hands finally slowed their shaking. She sipped a soothing mixture for her throat and watched people scurry by in the busy hall as she waited for the medi-witch to return to check on her. The hard plastic chair was beginning to make her butt ache, her legs itched to be stretched.

Her backpack sat on the floor beside her, its contents all that remained of her flat – whatever she managed to get in there. The last update had been simply that the fire had burned out of control and destroyed two floors, five people unaccounted for. She needed a new place to stay for the remainder of summer, and a hot shower. It had been hours after some Good Samaritan wizard has apparated her to St. Mungo's. She wasn't injured, but very shaken by the incident.

Ella leaned her head back and shut her eyes for a moment before hearing a familiar voice.

"Eleanor," Dumbledore smiled warmly in greeting.

"Professor," she stood hastily, trying to smooth her clothes into something more presentable. "What're you…?"

"Visiting an old colleague," Dumbledore finished. "I heard about the fire. I am terribly sorry about your flat, dear."

"It's fine, you know," she waved off his concern despite her growing fear for locating another place with a reasonable price as quickly as she needed it. She hated searching for apartments. It was, quite honestly, the worst – after muggle travel of course.

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"Not presently," she replied slowly, "But I'm working on it."

Dumbledore smiled mischievously for a moment, and then motioned for her to follow. "A quick word, if you don't mind, somewhere more private."

"Of course," she gathered her things and trudged after him with stiff legs. The medi-witch will have a heart attack when she – if she – returns to her empty seat.

In a small consultation room, Dumbledore made himself at home in one of the chairs, locking the door and soundproofing it with a sweep of his wand. His expression darkened as she set down her bag. Something was different about him.

"I know we didn't get much of a chance to discuss this. But, in light of recent events," he sighed, "I want to know how far you are willing to go with the Order. With all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"The fire was no accident, I'm sure you understand. It was an attack on Rupert Shelsher, the auror, and his family, who happened to occupy a flat in the same building as yours."

A lump formed in Eleanor's throat, the calming potion's effects wearing off already.

"Things will not get any easier, safer. You need to choose, right now, how committed you are to remaining an active Order member, or a member of the faculty of Hogwarts. I should think no less of you if you choose to opt out, to leave for somewhere safer…"

Eleanor shook her head, "I want to stay. I don't want to leave…. I don't want to leave the Order." _Or Severus._

Dumbledore studied her silently, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "Eleanor. Remaining with the Order will put you at great personal risk. These are dangerous people, they will not hesitate and you may not have an ally to help you."

"I understand."

"I may ask things of you that put you in great danger, or others in danger. You may need to use violent magic, dark magic, to protect yourself. You may have to harm those you think are friends, allies. There will be no second chances, no time outs, no protection from Death Eaters or Voldemort himself. There is no going back.

"You are absolutely sure?"

Dumbledore was practically begging her to quit, and there was no warmth in his demeanor, no twinkle in his eye or secretive smile. She would have run, given up on the Order and made for a safer place to wait out the war and hope for the best, had she not been so set on remaining near Severus Snape. She didn't want to give up seeing him at Order meetings, at school. The summer break, despite being far from over, felt as though it had dragged on for months, leaving her longing for the dungeon or the storeroom, the smell of freshly sliced ingredients or the sight of-…

"I'm sure." She hoped the old man couldn't read thoughts.

* * *

><p>There was a knock at the door, taking Snape by surprise. He set his book down and begrudgingly left the comfort of the well-worn armchair to answer it. Wind trickled in as he peered out to see two visitors on his doorstep, standing in the pouring rain amid the waning light. Dumbledore stood in front, wearing a bright smile as the raindrops bounced off the charm placed about his person.<p>

"Lovely weather," he grinned. "Might we come in?"

Eleanor stood clutching a small backpack, absolutely drenched from head to toe, looking astonished by his appearance. It seemed Dumbledore had neglected to include her in the charm. Silently, Snape stepped aside to let them in.

"Ah, that's better," sighed Dumbledore as he helped himself to a seat by the fireplace. Eleanor stood in a small puddle, still dripping as she fumbled for her wand.

"I'll fetch a towel," muttered Snape as he ducked out of the room. Why, in Merlin's name, was she here? His heart thumped painfully as he recalled the tight Harpies t-shirt she was wearing. Merlin's beard, was it ever tight.

He heard Ella mutter thanks as she took the towel from him. She smelled faintly of a campfire. Dumbledore's smile was unnerving. Had he forgotten not long ago they had spoken in his office about much darker things? He appeared unconcerned, making Severus all the more so.

"I'm afraid I've come to ask a favor, Severus."

_Haven't you asked enough of me already?_

"Eleanor is in need of a place to stay for the summer."

A swell of emotion threatened to burst out as Severus glared down at the man. There it was. Some stupid request he would agree to only to find some awful hidden intention. He wasn't a fool.

"Severus?" called Dumbledore softly.

"Why has my house turned into an inn?" he snapped.

"I did not think you would mind, Severus. She's much safer here than at the Leaky Cauldron or a muggle inn."

"You realize the frequency of the meetings now, the absence of privacy? It's getting harder to block him out. She'll be in more danger here than anywhere else," said Snape. "He will suspect something."

"No one will know she is here," replied Dumbledore. "And a harmless witch with a good pedigree is hardly a call for suspicion."

"She has no experience with Occulumency, Albus! The Dark Lord will read her like an open book."

"Teach her," Albus said coolly.

"If someone came, she would have no chance-…"

"You hardly have visitors, Severus. And she has committed to remaining with the Order."

Eleanor was at the door still, clutching the towel nervously. She hadn't said a word, only glancing anxiously at Albus as they spoke. The old man now stood in front of him, his voice barely a whisper.

"She could be helpful in your own safety, Severus. Eleanor understands the risks and your position better than anyone else, excepting myself. Do this for me."

Snape glared, still hurt by the requests made earlier in the summer. Was Albus not content until he ran him ragged?

* * *

><p>"You may stay in here," said Snape as he opened the door to a small, bare bedroom. He watched her taking in the house as wide-eyed as a child, barely uttering a word. "The bathroom is just there. Feel free to," he glanced at her again, hair a mess and shivering, "clean up."<p>

"What's in there?" she pointed to the door at the end of the hall.

"A room you would be kind to keep out of," he snapped before leaving to fetch some linens for her bed.

Setting her backpack down in the room, she looked around. _I'm in his house. I'm in his _house_._

Her heart almost burst in its excitement. Of all the places for him to choose, Dumbledore had brought her to Snape's house. She had wholeheartedly expected to show up at the Burrow, the Weasleys were very welcoming folk. But _this_.

She felt like a schoolgirl, about giggling as she fumbled for a change of clothes and made her way to the bathroom. She gingerly closed the door behind her and started to strip off her soaked, smoke-filled clothes before she suddenly stopped. _Oh shit, I am going to be naked in his house._

"Merlin, what am I, twelve?" she muttered as she realized the bathroom only had a chipped tub – with a bit of a dirt ring – and no shower. She scourgified the tub and turned the faucets, trying her best to adjust the temperature with the rusty knobs. Her mind was swimming as she sat on the edge of the tub, waiting for the water to rise.

* * *

><p>Snape clutched the small pile of bedding as he quietly climbed the stairs. He heard the water running from downstairs – the same sounds from childhood – and felt strange having another living being in the house with him. At the top of the stairs, he realized Eleanor hadn't closed the bathroom door all the way, neglecting to yank it shut until it clicked. His stomach turned violently as he realized he was standing before the door, hands clinging to the sheets as if for dear life.<p>

He reached for the doorknob, to close the door properly, when he froze. If he did pull it shut, it would be loud enough for her to hear. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she is still in the bedroom. But a glimpse through the doorframe at once rid the notion of her being elsewhere, and quite completely took him off guard.

She was sitting on the edge of the tub, back to the door – _thank Merlin_ – without so much as a towel on. Stunned, Snape found himself staring as the colour rose in his cheeks.

Her pale skin was freckled all over, and marred by a number of scars. There was one on the elbow of the arm trailing in the tub, another on the opposite arm higher up, and the largest rested on her right shoulder blade, the one the same size and shape as the dragon scale. There was a handful of very small, red marks trailing down from the base of her neck to her shoulder blade, they looked fairly fresh.

Despite the marks, her skin looked young and smooth – she barely seemed to age, perhaps Veela were somewhere in her family tree – and her figure was slight. His eyes traced the curve of her shoulder down to her narrow waist, and past-…

She moved to turn the water off, jarring him violently from his gawking. He swore silently, appalled by his own thoughts. He quickly yanked the door shut, listening for the click, and hurried to her room where he placed the bedding. He did not realize he had been holding his breath the entire time until he sighed at the foot of the stairs in nervous relief.

Some time later, as the hours grew late, she arrived downstairs while he was trying to read. Praying his cheeks wouldn't betray him as he felt them grow warm, he looked up as she spoke.

"I wanted to thank you again," she said sheepishly. "For letting me stay here."

He waved it off as nothing. She was wearing an oversized gray jumper with incredibly short black shorts. Merlin, did he miss her modest school wardrobe. He watched her fiddle with her damp hair as she made small talk. He didn't really hear anything of what she said. Her knees were riddled with little scars, he could only guess her years on Quidditch teams were to blame, or a childhood running around on rocks and climbing trees.

"Don't you think?"

"Hm?" He had missed the question entirely.

"Never mind," she smiled nervously, "It's late, I think I'll turn in. Goodnight, Professor."

"We are not at school, nor are we strangers," he said softly, "I hardly think we need to bother with much formality here."

Her face brightened, "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Eleanor." What a rush it was to say.

"Ella," she corrected, "please." She disappeared up the stairs with quiet footfalls and the click of his old bedroom door.

"Ella." He said softly to himself. He closed his book and let it fall against his chest. _Merlin, this girl… _


	47. Occlumency

Ella searched through the contents of her bag in the dim light of the bedroom. The lamp seemed to be on its last leg, flickering every so often as if in the throes of its death rattle. She heard things shifting and rustling as her hand blindly moved about, pulling out a stack of mail. It had been sitting on her kitchen table the last she remembered, unopened. Most of the papers were junk, but one caught her eye.

It was a small, square envelope made out of lovely paper with her name embellished on the front in some looping, fine script. There were no stamps, and no postmark to indicate it came through the muggle mail system. Carefully she popped the closing and pulled out a folded card. Her eyes skimmed the writing, all in fine script, until she stopped at the information in the very center and her heart jumped to her throat.

…_request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of Emily Jane and Thomas William on…_

Ella clapped a hand to her mouth. Thomas is getting _married_? He had only known this girl for a year or so, how on Earth could he be getting married? Eleanor let the invitation fall to the ground, stunned. It had been years since he had proposed, the papers had accidentally let slip the news. She turned him down, broke his heart, moved on – sort of. They were so close, she remembered, and the only reason she could give him was 'I'm not ready yet'. Truthfully, she had this nagging fear she wasn't with the right guy, but it was stupid of her to think of such a thing when she was with kind, handsome, talented Thomas Peregrine. Wasn't it?

Now this 'Emily Jane' would get all the laughs, the warm hugs. It hurt to think about, a flicker of jealousy burned furiously in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't keep thinking he would stay single forever. He wasn't hers anymore, she turned him down too many times, but the memory of his touch on her shoulders at the World Cup, their "sneaky" pre-game kisses, and the time spent pressed together, fingers locked, was enough to force a sob from her lips. Ella frantically grabbed the thin pillow and buried her face to muffle the sound of her crying.

Sometime late in the night, she pushed away the pillow and wiped her face. The envelope on the bed beside her had a small piece of paper still resting in it, catching her eye. She snatched it up and noticed it was on plain ruled paper, ripped from a notebook or something of the sort. Thomas's handwriting – she knew it anywhere – was scrawled out in pencil.

_Ella,_

_I know we haven't seen each other much lately, but I truly hope you can come. Emily is a joy, just a lovely person just like you. She works for the Ministry in the Department for Magical Games and Sports, and loves Quidditch. Bet you can guess that's how we met. She's really just wonderful and wants to meet you. I really miss you Ella. I hope you come._

_Thomas_

He had her heart on a string even now, each time she strayed he would say something to tug her right back. He was impossible to get over, and perhaps he knew it. She shoved the note and invitation back into her bag and wiped away a stray tear. Not again. She was tired of this game, so if it meant she was alone so be it. As she lay back on the thin pillow, feebly attempting to sleep, she realized it wasn't so easy to put that note from her mind.

When she woke, her eyes struggled to adjust to the light streaming in through the dirty windowpane. The white, cracked ceiling startled her, having forgotten she was not at her own home. She missed her room.

As she dressed, she strained to hear any sounds from the house's other occupant. Was he even up? As she made her way downstairs, she noticed his door was still firmly shut. Perhaps he was still sleeping. Prying open the door to the main room, she jumped in surprise as she noticed he was sitting in the same chair as yesterday going through the morning paper.

"Finally awake, are we?"

Eleanor, startled to see him there, tentatively crossed the dusty room. "Yes. Good morning."

"Don't you mean afternoon?" he said dryly as he turned a page, hiding his smirk. "Breakfast is in the kitchen."

"Thank you," she said and disappeared into the next room.

She was up when he had gone to bed, and woken up, so it was small wonder to him she had slept in. Snape wondered what she had been up to, or if she was that much of a night owl. He couldn't deny how strange it was to see her in his home, or anywhere besides Hogwarts. She would have been safer there, but the old fool was persistent – _why?_

He caught her staring at the paper as if it were on fire. Snape flipped to the cover to see what it was that held her attention, and at once realized. It was the article on the bottom of the front page that morning: _Shelsher family dies in apartment blaze, one missing_.

"They had very young children," said Eleanor, aghast. "I saw them pushing a pram not long ago."

Snape knew age wouldn't have mattered much to those who carried out the attack, and just how ignorant Eleanor was of what she was getting into. She was softhearted. If anyone discovered her, Eleanor would be an open book to a frightful amount of information on the Order, and worse, his position with Dumbledore.

"Have you studied Occlumency?" he asked her, trying to feign interest in an article on a new variety of tulip that sings when it rains.

"Only in books, never in practice," she shrugged.

"If you are so hellbent on remaining in the Order, I would suggest increasing your skill," said Snape, watching her sharply. "We will start this afternoon. And while you're here, there are some rules you are to observe."

"Rules?" she gave him a look he saw all too often on Potter's face.

"Do not go in my room," he began. "Do not follow me if I leave, in fact, do not leave the house. I don't want any of the neighbors to see you."

"What's wrong with me leaving the house? I'm sure they won't care," she frowned.

"Do I have your word?"

"What if I leave as a fox? Then can I go out?"

He glared at her, "Your word?"

She sighed, cross like a teenager with a nine o' clock curfew, "Fine."

Snape went back to his paper and heard Ella sigh loudly again as she glanced out the window. "Merlin, do you even _know_ your neighbors?"

* * *

><p>How odd it was to see Ella sitting in his chair, and how out of place she looked. The overstuffed armchair seemed to swallow her up as she leaned back and looked around. With all the shutters and blinds drawn, he felt ready to begin yet oddly nervous as if this lesson was worlds away from Potter's. There was no doubt Dumbledore had planned this, realizing their vulnerability he sought to correct it in whatever annoying way he could fathom.<p>

"To start, do nothing to block me. You need to recognize Legilimency as it happens, and what to expect to be more proficient in blocking it," he said drawing his wand. "We will use memory as a target, it is by far the most common and, in your case, dangerous applications of Legilimency. Focus on fear, it is one of the stronger sensations that prompt memories."

"A-alright," replied Ella, curling a lock of hair behind her ear.

For a split second, Snape was a little frightened of what he might find lurking in her head. There wasn't much in Potter's thick skull, and he never gave much thought to what women spent their time pondering. Pushing unease aside, he sat in front of her on the edge of his ottoman with his knees jutting out awkwardly protesting the low seat. Bracing for the deluge of information, Snape muttered, "Legilimens."

Suddenly fragmented memories flooded before him. There was a smoky hallway with flames lapping from under a door with air thick and smothering. This disappeared into a bathroom where Ella stood pulling small brown feathers out of the skin on her back in a bloodied mess. They fluttered onto her countertop in little clumps and collected under the sickeningly stark light. He was suddenly watching her fall from a great height in the middle of a Quidditch pitch with screams of the dispersing crowd assaulting his ears. A boy jumped from the stands and called out but his words were lost in the chaos. He saw Lupin as a werewolf lurking in the forbidden forest, snarling and snapping his jaws under the dappled moonlight. Fear prickled the back of his neck as a branch snapped underfoot.

The memories became hazier the farther back he went. He recognized the incident during his first year teaching when he and McGonagall broke up the scuffle Eleanor was in. It changed again to the Owlery, where she shifted into a sparrow and flew at breakneck speed to evade a swarm of hungry looking owls. Then a final time to a dark street in the rain, where Snape saw a small redhead clutching her mother's hand as they crossed the street. A group of dark robed men began to attack a Muggle family when the woman let go of Eleanor's hand and rushed to help. The flash of green light was unmistakable, as were the young girl's screams, and young Eleanor disappeared in the rain as his book-lined walls rushed back into view. The violence of the memory was enough to jar his concentration and left a sour taste in his mouth.

Grown Eleanor was sitting in his armchair wither her fingers wrapped around the over-padded armrests. Slowly she uncurled her hands and sat back, attempting to regain her composure.

"Perhaps we should continue another time," he said softly.

"No," she replied sharply. "No, I'm fine."

Snape hesitated greatly, but acquiesced. "This time, attempt to shut me out. Technique is more personal and takes practice. Most either focus on a particular memory, or attempt to completely clear their thoughts."

She nodded and took a deep breath, "Okay."

The rush was back, but it was much more broken and memories floated by almost too quickly to focus. She faltered in her efforts, Snape noticed, as he began to see snippets more clearly: Ella holding a piece of paper in his old bedroom with tears in her eyes, Ella standing at the World Cup with a boy with sandy hair holding her close, the same pair amid a group of loud kids clutching drinks over their heads all in National Team uniforms, and again in a dark room. Snape watched Ella slowly lean over to kiss the same boy with a twinge of jealousy in his chest, and then realized the both of them were naked.

Snape snapped out of the memory so fast it could have given him whiplash from the force of the mental block Ella had conjured. Eleanor was sitting in the armchair, eyes wide as dinner plates and cheeks redder than he had ever seen them. He became acutely aware of the burning in his own face and how tightly he was clutching his wand.

"I…I think that's enough for today," she whispered and excused herself from the room.

Snape remained on the worn, old ottoman, stunned. _Merlin, what am I doing…_

* * *

><p>As Severus sat awake in his dark bedroom well into the night, he heard very quiet sounds coming from down the hall. The house was not exactly soundproof – he had discovered that as a boy most unfortunately – and it could only be Eleanor. He checked the clock: 4:30am. She couldn't possibly be up at this hour.<p>

He tried to shut out the sound, as he did with all the other creaks and moans of the old house. He found himself reviewing what Dumbledore had told him at the start of summer, the sting in his chest as sharp as it had been the first time as he realized things were about to get so much harder. He wasn't sure he was prepared to return to the brutal days that occurred before the Dark Lord fell. He was so much younger, freer, at that time.

A muffled shriek arrested him from his thoughts and urged him to his feet. A sudden, blind panic took him to Eleanor's door and forced him to push it open. She was sitting up in bed, wound up tightly in the white sheets, with her long hair spilling over her shoulders. She clutched her chest as she fought to catch her breath.

"It is _five_ in the bloody morning," Snape grumbled, much harsher than intended.

Ella looked over as if she had not even noticed his presence. "I'm sorry," she spoke barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I…. I just… I'm used to being alone. I'm sorry."

For a moment, Severus was seized by a strange desire to stay with her. Shaking his head, he closed her door and ventured back to his own bed, groggily pushing aside any other thoughts of his redheaded guest. This girl was going to be the death of him. He had no time for distractions. A slip in his focus could let a secret slide, a plan be foiled, a person be killed.

* * *

><p>"What do <em>you<em> think of?" she asked, leaning back in his chair.

Severus lowered his wand, heaved a small sigh, and tried to place his thoughts. What were his Occlumency techniques? There were so many layered together he found it difficult to peel apart each one to describe. They worked together, like the individual pieces inside a lock, all clicking and meshing together to hold it strong against the most persistent invader.

"Concentration, distraction, and meditation," he began, "That is how I keep the Dark Lord at bay. I gather my thoughts, disperse any notion of the Order, Dumbledore, Potter, and the rest, and I simply focus on mental peace."

Ella looked at him thoughtfully and bit her lip. Perhaps this was too difficult for her, though she had glimpses of progress. He had caught seconds of a past birthday – an eight-year old Ella with braids, a white cake with pink candles, and, quite possibly, the very broomstick that sparked her interest in Quidditch – in his last attempt, but nothing more. It was getting more diificult to read into her memories now, especially the sensitive ones.

"Okay," she said, squirming in her seat, "Okay, I think I've got it."

Another attempt began. There was a rush of colours and noise before a dense wood formed before his eyes. A ghost of a memory would form and disappear in an instant every so often, leaving only the wood. Lush green trees towered high above into a dense canopy where sunlight filtered in, cast long golden threads of light upon the dirt below. Distantly a bird chirped, the wind gently rustled the leaves over his head, and it remained peaceful. He turned and some distance ahead he caught sight of Eleanor standing in the center of a clearing, her back to him. He watched the breeze catch her hair.

Pulling back from her mind, he maintained eye contact for a few seconds longer, dissolving into the twin golden orbs that were becoming all too familiar. Ella leaned back into the thick cushion of the chair, severing the connection.

"Bloody hell, this is too much work," she sighed.

Severus stood and brushed himself off, willing the movement to shake the stiffness from his legs. It was getting late, they had been practicing far longer than he had expected.

"Better," he muttered.

"I don't think I can do that much more. It's enough to give me a headache," she sighed.

"You will have to do it at all times. It's not supposed to be pleasant, it's for protection," he said sharply. "It's a matter of life and death."

Ella frowned sourly, "I know that. Don't be so serious."

Snape watched her take up a mug of coffee and settle more snugly into his chair. His back ached from sitting so long, the sun hung on the horizon, clinging to the sky with a few feeble rays. The monotonous schedule of practicing with her had eaten up more time lately than he cared to think about. But, secretly, he had come to enjoy taking a break from his usual summer routine. For a moment, he felt rather relaxed. Then, a sharp pain blossomed in his arm. It raced up to his shoulder and burned in his chest before dulling back into a nagging throb. He was calling.

"What's wrong?"

He grit his teeth, startled by the pain and dreading the coming hours. "Nothing," he said harshly.

Ella watched him pace around the room, collecting his things. He threw the dark cloak over his shoulders and pulled on his gloves. After triple checking for his wand, he made for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He saw her rise and come up beside him. The worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Out," he said firmly, finding his wand one more time. "I will be late."

Snape could feel her gaze upon his arm. He threw open the door, and walked out into the evening, finding a dark little alleyway he used to mask his leaving. He had a moment's hesitation and looked back at the house. The door was shut tight, yet a sliver of light escaped from the window. Snape could see Ella's face peering out, searching for him. Then it was gone, the curtain swinging back into place, cutting off that little beacon of light, and he was gone.


	48. Damaged

Ella sat in the silence, taking in all the quiet details of the house. The faint ticking of a clock from upstairs, the small rattling when the breeze blew outside the window, the smells of the old leather and books. Her fingers traced the curves of every spine as she took in the smell of the pages. While she floated about the house silently, her mind was racing with violent thoughts. Worry struck her numb. At once she felt trapped, helpless, and all the curiosity brewing within her, urging her to search the "off-limits" areas of the house while its master was away ebbed away with each ever-quickening heartbeat.

She needed to run.

Her hands found the door before her thoughts could tell them to stop. The lock clicked and she took off onto the cobblestones, numb to the sharpness of the loose gravel on her bare feet. Ella wove through the maze of alleys and streets in the ever-darkening village until she found an empty place to change. She flexed her paws, twitched her ears, and curled her tail, feeling at home once again. She bounded off for a grassy hill near a lazy, pitiful river. The smells of the dirt and grass had a strange, foreign twinge to them. It was sharp, overpowering the naturally sweet and delicate scents. But it was earth, and it felt good beneath her paws.

A rustling in the grass snapped her from her euphoric bout of defiance. Her fur stood on end, ears swiveling like radars trying to discern the threat. A sharp rush of regret filled her chest and weakened her legs.

Then, a pair of brown ears perked up over the weeds, and a familiar scent. A young fox, very thin and wiry, approached her warily. He sniffed and circled her before raising his tail in acceptance. He bounded about playfully, and the two of them spent a good while running and jumping about in the overgrown grass. Their frolicking was cut short when she felt a bone-deep aching in her legs. It was time to switch back, or she'd spend the rest of the night regretting it. Severus was due back soon, she guessed looking at the moon's position in the sky.

Ella said goodbye to her fox friend through a series of squeaks and a quick nuzzle. He bounded down the hill and followed the dirty river, disappearing into the dark. As soon as he was gone, she bolted for a place to shift back. The transformation couldn't come fast enough, and the instant she was back to herself she sighed in relief. Navigating her way home was a challenge. All of the homes looked alike in this sleepy village, and trying to pick the right one was a bit maddening until at last she recognized the curtains in the window and the beat up old door.

He was not home.

A bittersweet finding that gave her time to wash up and remove any evidence of her outing. Her limbs ached still and the hot bath water helped only while she was submerged in the murky soap-water. Ella had checked herself all over prior to sliding in the tub – neither clumps of fur nor any distinctively vulpine features remained, as usual with the fox form. But the other two… she shivered in the lukewarm water at the thought of her last time as a bird. She had spent hours plucking down feathers from her skin. She was getting worse.

Her cheeks burned with anger, so she dunked her head under the glassy surface and sat at the bottom of the tub scrunched up in a ball. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears. The water gave her a chill now, cooling far past a comfortable temperature. Instead of clumsily reaching for her wand beside the tub, she let it be. It was time to get out by now, her fingers and toes were well wrinkled. She sat one last minute watching her hair stream across the tub like blood red rivers, fluttering in a slow fall to her chest. Her mind raced to the night she helped Severus back to the castle with a hole cursed into his chest. The blood on her skin, the panicked expression on his face – as subtle as it was – and the damned shaking in her hands that wouldn't quit days after it happened. His fragility was very readily apparent to her, unlike before where he seemed too calm, too clever to fall prey to anyone's wand.

Ella raked her hair free of tangles and pulled the water from her hair with a quick sweep of her wand. She studied herself in the old mirror – plain, skinny, and scarred. The clusters of freckles marred her face and shoulders, and old injuries marred the rest. The lines of her ribs traced a diamond in her chest. Her skin had lightened more than ever from her stay at Spinner's End. She had no time for sunbathing or gardening or anything. Just study indoors, make small talk, occlumency, sleep. Her eyes stared back at her, bright in the dim lighting. She had always hated her eyes. Growing up she had lusted after the delicate blues, charming greens, even the sultry richness of brown. But gold, it was harsh and strange and impossible to mask. An animal's eyes, or some wretched wraith. Her parents both had a warm chocolate brown surround their pupils. They were soft and caring and held none of the cruel intensity of her eyes.

A sound in the house tore her away from the reflection. Just the floors settling or the window knocking the panes of glass about in their frames, Ella figured. She dressed and ventured into the dim hall. His door was slightly open, inviting her to push past and enter the mysterious room behind. Against better judgment, she went in and lit her wand. Hardly bigger than the room she was in, Snape's room was just as bare. A small bed sat in the middle pushed up against the wall. The linens were thin but neatly creased and made up. A rickety desk stood in the corner holding a small tower of books, a dark quill and stack of parchment. The chair was wooden, worn down with age and free of any cushioning. A chest of drawers opposite the bed mimicked the worn out look of the desk, each drawer tightly closed. It was at once what she expected and far less. The room was akin to a monk's quarters, bare yet functional.

Some silly part of her wished to flop down onto the bed. At once the stupidity of her decision to remain here hit her full force. Dumbledore meant well, yet knew nothing of the discomfort her presence caused. She had recklessly obliged to have the chance to be near him, and for what? He was not interested, nor would he ever be. But every small gesture, every accidental touch set her heart ablaze with excitement and hope and foolishness.

The door slammed shut downstairs. Heart pounding with dread she rushed out of his room and placed the door as she found it. Halfway to her bedroom, the loud rummaging coming from below arrested her attention. Perhaps it was not Snape. Perhaps someone else was in the house. Fear tumbled down her throat and burned in her stomach. Finding her wand, she quietly stepped down the stairs, skipping the fifth and seventh stairs that creaked horribly. A cabinet slammed and glass clinked.

Wand held defensively, she pushed the door open and peered into the living area. The front door was closed, curtains drawn like before, the fire was out but a light was on in the kitchen. Ella crept towards the noise – which abruptly stopped – while her better instincts screamed to run.

A hooded figure in black sat slumped at the small table bathed in the weak light of the overhead lamp. There was an open bottle of liquor on the counter. Her foot found a creaky floorboard and her heart flew to her throat. The figure perked up.

"You're still up?" asked a low voice.

"You gave me such a fright," Eleanor sighed, instantly relieved by his voice. She slipped her wand into her pocket and cautiously took a seat at the table opposite Severus. A long silence passed as she stared at the glass on the table and wrung her hands in her lap, sneaking glances at his face when she dared. His expression was dark, his eyes distant, perhaps deep in thought – or perhaps was he worried?

"I'll leave you alone then," she said quietly and went to get up.

"No," he said in a firm whisper. "Sit."

Ella hesitated and heard him add, "Please."

She sat. There was a long silence again as he drank from his glass and removed his hood. He was unhurt, at least it seemed, yet his forehead was creased with concern. Seeing him like this reminded her how little she understood what he did. He was dangerous, a fact she tried to forget, and equally dangerous men constantly surrounded him.

"I have already sent for Dumbledore to visit tomorrow," Snape began. "There are things I need to discuss with him in private."

Ella cringed inwardly at the emphasis placed on the latter part of the sentence.

"I will be gone for part of the morning. Should he arrive before me, you are to let him in," he said.

"Okay."

"No one else."

"I know," she replied, watching his shoulders fall as he sighed. Despite its awkwardness, sitting at the table alone with him was actually rather enjoyable. Snape never took meals with her, nor had he spent much time around her except during occlumency practice. Quite plainly, she didn't want it to end. But she could tell the man was growing tired, and she, too, felt her eyes start to burn in protest. Rather than give in to her fantasies of wrapping her arms around his wary shoulders, she stood and whispered a quiet goodnight, fleeing to her room before any silly notions could fight their way through. Her lips longed to tell him how glad she was to see him unhurt, safe, and home, but she knew better. He didn't care for a single damned thing she said.

* * *

><p>He fucked up.<p>

There was no other way he could fathom to put it. At a vital moment, when the Dark Lord was hissing his plans for the Malfoy boy into his ear, he let his mind wander and his defenses down. How stupid had he been?

The Dark Lord had undoubtedly noticed, and now he would be stuck looking after that worthless loser Wormtail. No doubt the creepy little man would be an extra pair of eyes, watching for him to slip up again and unravel all of his work. And Eleanor… He had no thoughts of what to do with her. When Dumbledore arrived the next day, he would quite plainly state it was too dangerous for her to stay here despite what the old man would say. He had obliged long enough and wouldn't roll over and let this girl get hurt – or worse – due to Albus's stubbornness.

Snape sat on the edge of his bed with his fingers steepled against his forehead. His mind was swimming. Lily had been his focus, and his desire for her had driven him through all the pain and tears. Yet Eleanor, she was his undoing. Of all that Lily was, Ella was not. She was a fiery curse that burned his brain and heart until his thoughts were hazy and his body betrayed him, as it had that evening.

He would always love Lily. _Always_. Yet he could feel his colleague burn her way under his skin despite how much he willed it away. He wouldn't allow himself feelings, or comfort, or joy. His repentance for Lily's death would follow him to his grave. He allowed himself no other pleasure in life than his potionmaking, and it would stay that way.

* * *

><p>Eleanor woke from her nap upon hearing the sharp rapping at the front door. She uncurled from the cozy armchair and made her way to the door drowsily.<p>

"Helloooo! Mr. Snape? Helloooo!" called a woman as she continued to knock furiously at the door.

Eleanor froze at the voice, seeing the woman peering in the small window in the door while waving something about. She knew she was in there. _Shit_.

Hesitantly, Ella pulled open the door, imagining Snape's tirade of scolding that would surely follow if he found out. But it was just a harmless old lady in a remarkably ugly sundress.

"Well hello there," said the woman, hastily adjusting her gray bouffant as she eyed Eleanor sharply. "Is Mr. Snape home?"

"I'm afraid he is out," Ella replied.

"Oh," the lady pursed her wrinkly lips. "Are you his wife, then? I can't say I've seen you before."

_His wife?_ The notion nearly caused her to burst out laughing in this old woman's face. Still, it would appear a better cover than telling her the truth.

"Erm, yes."

"Oh! Well I had no idea! How wonderful for him to have such a pretty bride. You know, I've lived next door to the Snapes for years. Didn't know what to think about that poor boy being alone for so long. Oh, goodness me, I'm going on. I've come to see if you had a cup of sugar for me to borrow. I'm baking a cake for my granddaughter's birthday. She'll be nine!"

"That sounds lovely," Eleanor smiled. "Why don't you come in a moment and I'll see if there's any left in the cupboard."

Ella felt uneasy letting the woman inside, but she seemed nothing more than an elderly muggle woman holding an ancient measuring cup. She noticed the lady looking around the living area with a concerned frown.

"I can't say I've seen much of your husband except during the summers these past years."

"We live in Scotland. The both of us are schoolteachers, so we come here on holiday to get away for a bit," Ella said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

"I see," she said, seemingly pleased with the explanation. "Oh, where are my manners! I'm Florence, dear. My husband Harold used to work for the mill here in town and we've just never left. We've got six of our own and each has children now too! We're just swimming with birthdays it seems."

Eleanor ducked into the kitchen to find the sugar while the woman rambled. There was a small sack half-empty that she hoped was still good.

"We've got some, how much do you need?" Eleanor asked.

"Oh just a pound if you've got it," Florence said, handing Ella the measuring cup. "Oh, I've forgotten to ask your name, dear!"

"Eleanor." _Merlin_, could this woman talk. She carefully filled the cup precisely, years of potions measurements nagging for the perfect amount. She returned with the sugar and the woman was still talking.

"Thank you! I won't bother you much longer, I need to get baking! But it was so nice to meet you! You should come over sometime, dear, for some tea. I'd love to hear more about you. You're just darling! Isn't he lucky to have you. Ta!"

At last Eleanor slammed the door and ended the never-ending chatter. It was small wonder Severus never spoke to his neighbors. They were completely batty. Just as she settled back down in the worn, old armchair, the lock on the door shuttered and clicked. Both Albus and Severus entered, giving her need to bolt to her feet and start to head for the stairs remembering Snape's words the night before.

"Eleanor, how lovely to see you," Dumbledore's eyes glittered as he smiled. The old man carefully wiped his feet upon entering and walked carefully about, his spangled robes swaying softly.

"And you, Headmaster," she replied, trying to mask the bitterness in her voice. She glanced to Snape, reading his silent, venomous request for her to continue her way upstairs.

"Why don't you stay and chat with us," proposed Albus, stealing Severus's favorite armchair for himself without a word.

"Surely, Albus, you wanted to speak privately," Snape ventured softly.

"I would rather her hear, Severus. She's as much involved as you and I are."

"Hardly," Ella heard him whisper, but the old man didn't seem to notice.

"Come," urged Dumbledore cordially. "Sit with us."

Ella ventured to the sofa and sat stiffly, feeling the annoyance radiate from Snape's eyes. Dumbledore was the only one who relaxed in his seat, his soft smile leaving his lips. A quick wave of his wand and all the doors in the house snapped shut, the curtains drew themselves tightly, and a few small lamps jumped to life.

"Now, Severus, please continue," he said.

Snape glared at Eleanor before picking up a conversation Ella had missed. "The Dark Lord feels it necessary to leave Wormtail as my servant for the remainder of summer. I assume he suspects something, which is why I have suggest she leave."

"Leave?" Ella blurted out.

Ignoring her, Snape continued, "Her presence will spark suspicion. I have no doubt Wormtail will relay every detail, and her safety will no longer be guaranteed."

"It never was," Dumbledore calmly replied. "We have gone over this Severus. She has consented to any risk. Am I correct, Eleanor?"

"Yes," she nodded nervously.

"What of Wormtail? What explanation am I to give him when he sees her?" Snape's voice regained its edge, harshly forming each syllable.

"Why Severus, you're a clever man," said Dumbledore.

"Why not send her on her way?" Snape's voice rose sharply, "Why do you insist on her remaining here?"

There was a brief pause before Albus replied softly, "For your protection."

"I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles," Severus spat.

The old man's face saddened taking in the harshness of Snape's words.

"Old magic," said Ella, breaking the tense silence. "The Headmaster thought old magic might provide a safeguard in case you were to falter."

"I ask more of you than any other person, Severus, and I am acutely aware of the dangers you put yourself in almost daily. Forgive this old man for wishing you better protected." Dumbledore leaned back against the threadbare cushioning, folding his hands across his lap calmly, his expression enigmatic.

Severus was silent for a moment, visibly uncomfortable. Ella hoped neither one of her colleagues would notice her reddening face. She hoped Severus took the notion of old magic as friendship, or the very least wizarding companionship, instead of the stronger implications behind the term.

"It is dangerous to keep her anywhere near the Dark Lord or his followers with her knowledge of our intentions," Snape said quietly.

"And you have told me you've been teaching her occlumency," Dumbledore swiftly replied.

"Her mastery is far from what is needed. It is barely passable at best."

Ella tried not to take offense at his comment, as he was, regrettably, correct.

"I have not come to argue, Severus. I wished to hear your report and congratulate you on your new position," said Dumbledore sternly.

"What position?" Ella asked.

"Severus will be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this coming year," replied Dumbledore, his soft smile returning.

Ella's heart raced excitedly, "And I take Potions?"

"I'm afraid Horace Slughorn will be returning to the position," he said, "And you will be assisting as before. You remember Horace, don't you?"

Eleanor was dumbfounded, "But… But you said when the position opened I would be taking it. That's what you told me when you hired me. What you said not long ago even!"

Dumbledore gestured for her to calm down, "We need Horace this year, otherwise yes, you would be taking it."

"But you promised! I've done everything you've asked!" She said furiously, rising so quickly to her feet she nearly. "Including all that nonsense with the Triwizard Tournament!"

"Eleanor, please-…"

"No! First the animagus business, and now this? I'm sick of it!" She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, slamming her door with great satisfaction.

* * *

><p>Snape raised an eyebrow, unmoved by the girl's frenzied fit. He felt her frustration, though. When Dumbledore asked something of him, he couldn't say no. Even to the old man's request to do him in rather than suffer at the hands of Bellatrix or any other wild dog of Voldemort's. He had been continually growing more disillusioned every year and now, all his faith was leaving him.<p>

Dumbledore wiped his glasses on the edge of his sleeve and sighed heavily. "I take it what we've feared has happened, then."

Snape, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, last night."

"The Mark?"

Snape nodded, remembering the whimpering of the Malfoy boy when he received his Mark. Pitiful. "His task is punishment for Lucius's failure. He knows how much it pains his mother, but the boy doesn't yet understand what his task will mean."

"I wouldn't expect him to," said Dumbledore, frowning. "Not yet."

"There will be more disruptions. The Dark Lord is looking for people with information. He wants to scare people into submission, including the muggles, and doesn't seem to be concerned of suspicion being raised within the muggle government."

"The muggle prime minister has been informed of the issues," Dumbledore said. "And he is prepared for any… accidents."

"He is not prepared for the scale on which the Dark Lord wishes to play."

"That may be," said Dumbledore pensively. "Michael Shelsher has already had his position filled at the Ministry. Am I to doubt this was planned?"

Snape shook his head, "Crossley, another politician turned Death Eater."

"They are trying to be thorough, aren't they?" Dumbledore said quietly, with a ghost of a smile on his lips. There was no warmth in his face.

Snape snuck a glance at the staircase, there were no tell-tale signs of her eavesdropping.

"She's right to be angry with me," admitted Albus softly.

Snape remained silent, slightly discomfited the old man had caught him looking for her.

"I'm afraid I've done her wrong many years ago, all to satisfy my own curiosity," he said.

* * *

><p>Eleanor appeared in the sitting room for occlumency at the usual hour, though looking rather glum. Snape acknowledged her with a nod as he finished the second page of the evening Prophet. He rose and gave her his seat and took his place on the ottoman after another sip of his drink, their unspoken schedule at work. He inspected his wand for any flaws, cleared his mind and put up his usual barriers. Eleanor seemed distracted, but was ready when he was to begin.<p>

Her method was flawed today, he noted, full of holes enabling him to more clearly recount memories for seconds longer than safe.

"If you aren't going to put any effort into this, I hardly think this is good use of my time," he chided.

She mumbled an apology and sat up straighter in the armchair. _As if her posture were the problem_, he grumbled to himself. Again, he focused on her eyes and dove in to check her blocks and barriers. Better this time, he noticed, yet blurry images and fuzzy sounds remained too clear for his taste. She couldn't afford an "off day" with her knowledge of the Order, or himself.

Then, the wood Eleanor used as her meditative space came into focus, the various sounds all quieting down into a soft breeze. _Better_, he thought, _at least she's growing accustomed to it. _Before him, behind a thick tree trunk, a small fox manifested itself and peered at him with wild eyes. The fox leapt forwards, deeper into the trees, until the flora began to give way to a new scene. Trees became walls and windows, the sky a high ceiling, and the soft grassy ground covered in tiles, tables, and a plethora of whirling objects. It was Dumbledore's office. The man himself appeared like a smoke-like apparition, settling solidly in his chair as he fiddled with his glasses. The fox appeared again, unraveling to form Ella sitting in a chair before the headmaster.

Their voices were soft and muddled at first, as if Severus were underwater, yet they slowly gained clarity.

"…should stop shifting into those forms for your own safety," said Dumbledore softly. "They're unraveling, and your magic, I'm afraid, cannot sustain them for much longer."

"I can still turn into a fox without any pain or lasting effects," Ella replied.

"Perhaps that ability will remain. But the other two will damage you the more you use them. Not unlike the others who have tried this before you."

"You said my transfiguration skills and compatibility would be enough to sustain them," said Ella, looking heartbroken. "You said it was safe."

"I was wrong. It appeared to be the case when you were younger, but now… From what you've told me, it's just like all the others. Three forms, even two, are too draining and damaging to sustain. It is a violation of the soul and your magic. Why it did appear this way sooner I cannot… Did you shift at all after you left school?"

Eleanor shook her head, " There wasn't any time, and too many people could've seen. I only started practicing again when I came back here."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, deep in thought with his wizened fingers wrapped under his chin. Eleanor was growing visibly agitated, her disappointment taking a sharp turn as Dumbledore pondered her words.

"I would suggest refraining from any more shifting," Dumbledore said at last. "Even as a fox, your magic may start to weaken or react like it has with the others."

"Are you saying all this time I've just been wasting my magic? You're the one who put me up to this! You neglected to warn me of any risks. Surely you knew?" Ella stared daggers at the old man while she gripped the sides of her seat tightly.

"The fault is mine, yes, but there was no way to know for sure without attempting it."

Their voices suddenly faltered, drowned out by the growing background noise. The memory fell apart and Severus was left staring at Eleanor, mouth slightly agape. She had redirected a memory, something he never thought she would figure out. Hardly any occlumens could or chose to do redirection simply for its unpredictability and counter-productivity. She _chose_ to show him that, or perhaps focused too hard on it by mistake. Ella shrank back into the chair, ashamed.

"The dragon scale?" he remembered matching the shape to the scar on her shoulder once.

"From the Triwizard Tournament."

Suddenly, it all made horrible sense. Albus had encouraged her attempt what countless others had over the centuries and quite effectively damaged her magic in the process.

Before he could say anything, there was a knock on the door.


	49. The Rat and the Fox

A/N: I want to apologize to all of you for the long wait on this update! I hope this ridiculously long chapter makes up for all that waiting!

* * *

><p>Eleanor felt a bedspring tug at her hair as she lay underneath her bed. Straining to hear any notion of the men downstairs, she cautiously shifted her weight. Her chest was starting to hurt from lying there for so long. The dust made her nose itch.<p>

Wormtail had arrived early. Snape was livid as he whispered instructions for her to hide. She had obeyed without hesitation. The night was drawing long and she feared she would have to sleep on the dusty floor for the night if the conversation downstairs did not come to a close soon. The adrenaline had waned and her eyes began to burn with exhaustion. She lowered her chin to rest on her arms, safely separate from the dust, and let herself close her eyes.

Heavy steps came from beyond her door, quiet at first, gathering volume as they neared. She heard the floorboards creak dangerously close to her door. Breath caught in her throat as shadows split the band of light beneath the door. The first to pass by was quiet, with even footsteps that came and went quickly. The second went by heavily, skittering in an uneven pace. Her nails dug into the wood. The house no longer held its protective air.

Snape's voice was low, a deep humming Eleanor could pick up with ease. A door creaked open and shut, and then the hall was silent. Eleanor held her wand, trying to draw some comfort from it as footsteps neared her door once more. The dim light filtering in below the door was disrupted once again and the hinges creaked open. Ella held her breath, mind searching for a curse just in case.

The door shut tightly and a veil of soft light enveloped the wall as a number of charms melded into the materials. The lamp came on, illuminating the dark shoes that stood just before her.

"You're not very creative with hiding places," Snape said in a low voice.

Instantly relieved, Eleanor stuck her wand in her mouth and wiggled out from under the bed. Her elbows and chest were sore by the time she stood and brushed herself off. Snape stood stiffly wearing a melancholic expression as he looked her over. She knew her appearance was probably less than acceptable, but she had just spent hours under an old bed. Not much to be done with it.

"It is safe to speak," he mentioned as he tucked away his wand. "I need to review a course of action with you."

"Alright," she replied. Having a plan made her feel much more at ease, but her courage was slow to appear.

"I would highly recommend you to leave," he began sourly.

"I gave my word to Dumbledore that I would stay." Eleanor bit her lip, unwilling to break her promise despite the look he gave her.

"If you are adamant in your foolish decision, you need to be on the alert at all times. Wormtail is more dangerous than he would seem. He is a coward, but he is not stupid. He is close to the Dark Lord and will not hesitate to jeopardize your safety. Your Occlumency is vital now.

Can you retain any of your animagi forms for a length of time?"

"I can stay a fox for a while."

"You will pose as a pet in his presence," Snape said. "Stay quiet and out of the way as much as possible until he has gone. Create a barrier to prevent him from hearing you."

Eleanor nodded in understanding.

"We have a meeting with the Order soon. I will let you know when it is time," he said over his shoulder as he went to the door. Then, more softly he added, "I encourage you to give some thought into leaving."

"How long will he be here?"

"That I cannot answer. I will be having visitors soon that are not to know you are here at all."

"Who?"

Snape shook his head irritably, "I need you to understand you are putting yourself in a volatile environment that almost guarantees your early demise. I will not sugar coat it as Albus does. You either get out now, or not at all."

Ella was taken aback by his frankness. "I'm not leaving. I promised Dumbledore," she replied sharply.

"Promises mean nothing in this situation," he hissed, growing more flustered by her pigheadedness. "The Weasleys or Minerva would be perfectly capable of taking you in for the remainder of summer," he continued.

"I haven't spent all this time learning Occlumency to sit around Molly Weasley's house," Ella said brashly. "I want to help you."

"Have you lost all sense?"

"Do you want to be rid of me because my presence annoys you, or because you care about my well-being?"

"I don't want to clean up the mess you leave behind," he snapped, yanking the door open and slamming it behind him.

* * *

><p>Snape woke early in the morning, shaken from a light sleep by some unknown notion. His clock told him the sun wasn't due for a few hours, but his body refused to rest any longer. The chill of the morning seeped in the room along with an uneasy silence. He listened hard for any sounds coming from the house's other occupants.<p>

The floor was cool under his feet as he journeyed into the dark hallway, still straining his ears for any sound. The floorboards moaned under his weight and a faint snoring could be heard from the closet-turned-room where Wormtail now dwelled. Snape stopped before Eleanor's door and noted she must have heeded his warning about a silencing charm. Her usual tossing and turning on the old bed was absent even from this close.

Fear crept into his throat. The situation had him walking on hot coals. Her presence could unravel everything he had done all these years, and ruin the safety of every Order member in an instant. Dumbledore wasn't himself since his return to Hogwarts. While his fear for Severus's safety was well placed, it was never so apparent as trying to invoke a safety net of Old Magic. Bonds between wizards were not so strong as to reflect a curse from the Dark Lord's wand. His own bond with Eleanor was laughably weak. They were colleagues at best, a very persistent colleague. If she was Dumbledore's ideal candidate for his protection, the man was completely mad.

Snape's fingers slid across the smooth doorknob, its feel deeply known, and let them rest with the gentlest pressure. Closing his eyes, he could imagine the room's contents well. When he woke early, he had grown accustomed to peeking in her room – as she left the door slightly ajar – and seeing her tangled in the sheets, racked with unseen horrors. The thought of trying his hand at a proper sleeping draught had presented itself many a time. Some nights were quieter than others, and a couple times he had found her resting more peacefully with her shirt askew and a sliver of her thigh peeking out from under the thin blanket. He found the way she slept with her mouth slightly open rather amusing. But now her door was firmly shut. It was strange how disconnected he felt, and that he even cared about such a thing. Until now, his mantra had been to do as he was told and care for his own well being. He never bothered with others - excepting Lily of course as she had been his best friend - having lacked any need or desire to do so. His observations of familial love proved it was not something to be desired, but wary of. Romantic love seemed as enigmatic as ever.

Letting go of the doorknob, Snape dragged himself back to his bedroom, unwilling to venture downstairs to fetch coffee and wait for the sun to rise. He slid under the covers of his bed and willed his exhausted body to sleep. The ticking of his clock occupied his thoughts until they began to stray again. Snape wondered if she was sleeping. Was it a sound sleep? Was she wearing her usual pajamas to bed? His mind danced to the black shorts she had been wearing frequently that were impossibly small, revealing every inch of her scarred and freckled legs. Legs that were not so lanky as they were when she was young. Now they were soft and tapered, with a womanly curve to them as they disappeared up into the black fabric, and still bore some of the toned muscle from her athletic career and tendency to go running.

Eyes snapping open, Snape swore under his breath. Why in Merlin's name was he occupying himself with such thoughts? Even more so of a _colleague_. The notion of interest in her physical being disturbed him. He was not allowed such thoughts, nor should he distract himself at such a delicate time. Yet, more and more often he found himself thinking of her in ways he did not intend. It was like sixth year all over again, only worse.

Furiously turning on his side, Severus gathered the blanket up in his arms and squeezed his eyes shut. Relying on meditation to clear his thoughts, he pushed the sound of the ticking clock from his mind and focused on breathing slowly and evenly. Soon, his arms began to relax and his brow softened as it became easier to remain at peace. At last he drifted back into a light, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>After downing his third cup of coffee, Snape felt a sufficient buzz in his system he needed to get through the rest of the morning with the ridiculous Peter Pettigrew bumbling about his house. The short man's mood had changed from the night before, from calculating to downright jittery. How a man like Pettigrew managed to slip into the house known for bravery was beyond Snape. A hiccup in the Sorting Hat's otherwise untarnished record.<p>

Snape had left breakfast for Eleanor outside her door. He was dreading her arrival downstairs, which would surely come. She was never one to stay in her room all day by any means. The stairwell door opened and shut gently, snapping Snape's attention away from the dull conversation he had been sharing with Wormtail. The slim figure of a fox slipped along the wall, brushing the spines of his dusty book collection as it came near, finally taking a seat beside his chair. She faced Wormtail, large ears perked, and was silent as the man stared, wide-eyed, at what had manifested before him. Snape curled his lips in amusement as the stocky man slid a little lower in his seat, any hint of confidence ebbing away.

"And he wishes to… to…" Wormtail wiped his greasy forehead with a sweaty palm. "Is that supposed to be in here?"

Snape held his gaze, masking the humor of the moment with his usual monotone, "Do you take issue with my choice of pet?"

"That's your _pet_?" Wormtail breathed heavily, nostrils flaring as he fidgeted about. "Is it safe?"

"Quite," Snape said coolly, "Eleanor behaves most of the time."

The fox let out a snort and eyed him sourly. Her mannerisms were uncanny even if she was a four-legged furball. He cleared his throat before a chuckle could escape. The conversation was well forgotten, and Wormtail seemed to be too comfortable with his new position.

"I expect you will provide me assistance whenever I should need while you are here," Snape said.

"Of course," Wormtail muttered, the reluctance in his voice thick and palpable.

"Then you shall begin with tidying the kitchen. I'm afraid it's been out of sorts for a bit." Glee crept into his chest as Wormtail's shoulders fell.

"I am here to _assist_ you, not _serve_ you!"

Eleanor growled, instantly silencing the man's whining. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable and enough to cause Snape to clear his throat again.

"I'm not your House-Elf," Wormtail said firmly, eyeing Eleanor carefully.

"Quite right," Snape said coldly. "You're an embarrassment of a Death Eater that is being treated remarkably well. You are not my guest, but a tolerable nuisance."

Wormtail chewed on his puffy lips, cheeks reddening. "I'm not the one under the microscope, Snape. You'd better keep yourself in line-…"

Eleanor growled again, this time taking a couple steps in Wormtail's direction.

"Perhaps it is you needing to be watched like a babe," Snape hissed. "You're not even worth our Master's time. He merely passed you along to be looked after rather than let you get in the way of the adults."

Snape was not afraid of Wormtail in the least. He was little more than a gnat begging to be squashed under his thumb. Yet, he had to endure the little man and his big talk for whatever reason the Dark Lord had willed his stay. He had some idea it was from his previous slip in Occlumency. What set Severus ill at ease was the readiness of Pettigrew's tongue, the willingness to rat out anything suspicious. He had no real power other than revealing weakness or reasons of doubt to those who really could do harm. Yet, the man was not completely helpless. Severus knew Peter was capable of decent magic, having seen an Unforgivable or two thrown from his wand.

Peter held up his silver hand, "This was a gift from our master, whom I helped restore to power. He has rewarded me for my loyalty and continues to regard me with trust. What has he given you?"

"I do not need to be showered with gifts to do my duty," Snape spat. "I do not need bribing to accomplish simple tasks. That hand is proof of your dispensability, not loyalty."

Pettigrew's face pinched with distress, cheeks puffing. Unable to come up with much to counter, Peter mumbled the rest of what he had been trying to say before Eleanor made her appearance. Eventually, he toddled off to the kitchen and began his work, whining just loud enough for Severus to hear. Meanwhile, Snape busied himself with the volume he had been working on for the past few nights, settling into the folds of his armchair as Eleanor slipped back upstairs without so much as a sigh.

* * *

><p>Eleanor had exhausted her reading material far too quickly. She had stayed up the night before trying to study the stars, but found the city's glow far too bright for any real comparison to the star charts that dotted her books. She knew the positions of the constellations by heart, yet finding them here was a real challenge.<p>

Tearing a chunk of paper from a notebook, Ella hastily scrawled a simple note. Shifting into a fox, she took up the note and let herself downstairs, nails clicking on the hardwood as she went. Pushing open the door to the living area, she found Snape alone reading in his usual spot. Ella placed the note on his footstool and fled at the sight of Wormtail waddling in from the kitchen.

Several minutes later, Eleanor was snapped out of her bored stupor to a single knock on the door. Footsteps tapered away before she felt brave enough to near her door. Cracking it just a bit, she spotted what she had hoped for. Snape had left a small stack of books, neatly placed before her door with another piece of paper atop them.

_Practice again tomorrow evening._

Occlumency. She had forgotten all about it. The addition of Wormtail to the household had shifted her entire schedule off kilter. Even sneaking to the bathroom had become cumbersome. It seemed Snape was not up for their nightly lesson, and to be honest, neither was she. Settling down on her bed with the old books, Eleanor clutched the note tightly taking in every detail of his neat scrawl. Her fingers traced the letters, and she felt a strange closeness to their creator.

The stack included a healthy variety of volumes on experimental magic, potionmaking, and a random Muggle classic. She rifled through the old books carefully, inhaling the scent of old leather and parchment. She loved that smell, it reminded her of the library or her parent's humble collection they kept in the study. As a child, she was always encouraged to read and was given free rein on any book she touched. She loved going with her mother to the library and with her father to the bookshops in the town near her home.

_Home_. It had been a while since she had thought about her childhood home. In a sleepy countryside cottage surrounded by a thick wood, Eleanor had grown up without much of a care. She loved being out of doors, spending much of her day running through the trees, playing pretend with sticks and flowers and whatever she could stuff into her little bag. She made friends with quiet animals who seemed to follow her, something her mother later explained was proof of her magical bloodline. She could change small objects too, if she thought hard enough. She could find a shriveled flower and make it bloom. She could change a rock into a crude flute. Once, Ella had even changed a branch of rowan into a bird. Later, on the eve of receiving her admittance letter to Hogwarts, she had somewhat mastered sprouting a pair of fox ears at will.

The Bristow home was a proper magical dwelling. It was filled with drying branches and blooms, had brooms that swept by themselves, and a clock that sang the time. Of course, there were also freshly baked sweets occupying the counter in the kitchen that Ella had gotten caught stealing from very often. There had been a very grandfatherly air to the structure itself, as if it had been there for a very long time. She remembered the scent of it. It was hard to describe, but she knew it well. It was a warm, spicy scent that melted with clean laundry and welcomed her home when she came in from the woods.

It was very far from Snape's house. It had a distinctly sharp scent, one of neglect that made it feel very impersonal and sterile. The smell ruined the otherwise delicate scents of the worn books and parchment, the leather armchair downstairs, and the old, worn wood. It was just a shell of a dwelling, but with a good cleaning it would probably look nice. She loved the multitude of books crammed into every corner and stacked on every bit of furniture. Eleanor wrapped her arms around her knees and took in her room. The lamplight softened the bare space some, especially in the lowlight of evening. The scratched and dull hardwood floors were the only thing with character. She had found an old photo of her first professional Quidditch game to brighten the worn nightstand. The frame was crammed with ecstatic players still in their gear, hair a mess, smiling and cheering. She was way to the right, holding her broomstick with a goofy grin. She had lost contact with nearly all of them by now. It was hard for her to say she felt better having a "proper" job than playing pro Quidditch, but she knew her parents would have been happy.

A high-pitched skittering caught her attention. A hint of a shadow paused outside her door, then left very abruptly. Eleanor felt a shock of panic wash through her. It had to have been Wormtail. The thought of the greasy looking man being so close unnerved her and she hoped her charms would hold. Her magic seemed distinctly weaker the hour following her time spent as a fox. The symptoms lingered far longer with the other two. Dumbledore stressed caution, going so far as to suggest her magic may wane completely. It was something he had told her as a third year when she first started her lessons with him. He told her she had a knack for Transfiguration and a natural affinity to the process of shifting, as she had partially completed before. Feeling special dulled her common sense. The danger had failed to faze her at that age, and the rapid progress had dulled any fleeting fears.

It was a violation against nature. It distorted a person's magic to attempt an affinity with more than one animal. One was harsh enough. The excitement of the Headmaster, the exhilaration of experimental magic, it was intoxicating and blinding. Now it was too late to correct, and she couldn't help but feel a bit betrayed by the old wizard.

Suddenly, Eleanor's mind jumped to the afternoon she visited Lupin while he was teaching at Hogwarts. The boggart she saw did not take the form of any fear she had expected. It was simply a mirror image of her, _without a wand_. That was the first year since her lessons with Dumbledore that the old man had asked how she was progressing with her animagus shifting, how her magic was faring. Deep down, she realized with sickening clarity, Eleanor was terrified of losing her magic.

* * *

><p>Eleanor was sure Wormtail intentionally passed by the bathroom every time she took a bath. The tiny skittering of claws and a band of shadow passed before the door each time. It was beginning to cause her to worry over the state of her protective charms. Perhaps her magic was weakening more severely than Dumbledore had proposed.<p>

She slid farther into the tub, her lips beneath the soapy water, and tried to put her worries from her mind. Her performance in Occlumency had been less than adequate since the creepy little man's arrival, much to Snape's annoyance. The lessons were now the only interaction she got with him, excepting her presence as a fox, and it seemed to make the sessions more tense than usual.

The water had lost its warmth, but Ella did not reach for her wand or the knob of the faucet. Her fingers were plenty pruned. She yanked the plug and let the water drain as she wrapped herself in a towel and raked her fingers through her long hair. Snape had warned her any day now there would be an Order meeting, and she was beginning to think the time would never come until a note slipped under her door that morning. Excitement quickly ebbed away. As happy she was to get out and see the other Order members, she worried about Wormtail and the suspicions their leaving might raise with him. Snape had surely worked it out, but she was still ill at ease.

Pulling the water from her hair with a flick of her wand, Eleanor dressed and prepared herself for the dash back to her room. She slipped into her furry form and stuck her snout out into the hall, listening and trying to pick up the scent of Wormtail, a musky, offending odor that proved unmistakable. There was no sign of anyone, and she took the moment to dash into the dim hall. As she opened the door to her room with one paw, a trick it took her a bit to master, a hand touched her back.

Eleanor jumped a foot in the air and turned around to see who it was, fur bristling. A ghost of a smirk played on Snape's lips as he retracted his hand. Ella flattened her ears in annoyance, he had every intention to surprise her.

"It's time," he whispered, "follow me out."

Snape closed her door for her and lead the way down the stairs to the front door. There was no sign of Wormtail, and Eleanor was glad to follow Severus out into the night. The smell of fresh air was wondrous and she drank it in as they dashed for the protection of a shadowy alleyway. Her claws clicked loudly on the stones, interrupting the sleepy silence that gripped Spinner's End and surrounding streets. The same gray mist hung in the air, turned brown from the lights below it. Snape glanced about, undoubtedly checking for muggles, before he gave her a signal to shift back to normal.

"We are going to the usual meeting place," Snape said quietly.

Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, "How far is that from here?"

"Not very," said Snape.

"Couldn't we just fly?" Eleanor asked, earning an annoyed frown from her companion. "I'm sure I have an extra broom."

She greatly preferred broom travel to apparition, and after a minute Snape seemed to sense her unease. He offered his hand – which she took eagerly, reveling in the closeness it brought – and instructed her to hold tight. Side-along apparition was only slightly less unnerving to her than solo. He seemed to travel much greater distances with ease, so small ones were definitely safe. Ella squeezed his hand tightly as she felt the ground lurch from under her. With a small pop, the whirling stopped abruptly and Eleanor was thrown forwards, still holding onto Snape's hand tightly. He had caught her about the middle with his free arm, steadying her.

Eleanor whispered thanks while Snape turned his attention to surveying for muggles or other wizards lurking in the dark street, wand held defensively. A dog barked somewhere, and a quiet whirring noise told of a muggle car passing down a nearby street. Number 12 slid out into view, its wrought iron gate snapping to attention while the rest of the sleepy homes went on as usual, the flicker of television screens leaking out from a couple windows.

Eleanor noticed she was still holding his hand firmly, and a weak pressure gripped her fingers in return. A wave of nervous excitement flooded through her as she became captivated by the sensation. She wondered when it would end, when he would finally notice – though she desperately wanted it to linger forever – and wondered why the man hadn't ripped his hand away the instant they arrived.

Snape lead the way to the door, finally breaking free, and whispered a password to a pair of eyes that appeared as the door cracked open. Eleanor, close behind, followed him in and was greeted by the familiar narrow hallway abuzz with hushed conversation. Snape had his back to her, and she could tell by his deliberate movement and silence that he was back to his normal self, icy façade in place. The hall reeked of age and dust lingered on the peeling wallpaper in clumps. There was a house elf, Kreacher, who lived there but never really seemed to clean up the place. Neglect was more apparent here than at Spinner's End, as it seemed the house was missing the polish dictated by its stately décor. Snape's home seemed to have been rather minimal from the start.

The group clustered in the kitchen had a distinctive melancholic air about them. Eleanor was not surprised, they were all still in mourning over Sirius Black, some more than others. Lupin greeted her warmly, his shoulders slumped in a defeated way. He had taken Black's death the hardest, excepting Potter.

"It's good to see you, Remus," she said. "Doing well?"

"Getting along," he said with a small nod, fatigue etched in his face. He had three thin cuts on his jawline, nearly healed. "I'm so grateful you and Severus are still sending me… well, you know. It really helps."

"Of course," she smiled. She had brewed Wolfsbane for Lupin ever since he had left, and when she couldn't manage, she had shouldered Severus into taking her place. Getting used to sending the vials by owl was still…difficult. Now, with the mail more closely regulated, it might become trickier to send them at all.

Tonks murmured a hello, her usual cheery self seemed diminished to a ghost of its former glory. Her hair was a drab shade of mauve and hung about her face like dead weeds. Eleanor surmised it could have been because of their fallen Order member, as Kingsley had mentioned she was related, but by the way she regarded Remus, her eyes constantly shifting his way, she wondered if there was something else that troubled her.

Mrs. Weasley gave Eleanor a giant hug and shoved a warm cup of tea into her hands. She had learned the right amount of honey Eleanor liked to dump in, and the gesture was becoming routine. "So good to see you, my dear. Glad you could make it."

"Good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," Eleanor said. "Where is Mr. Weasley this evening?"

"Please, dear, you can call me Molly," huffed the woman. "You're plenty old enough and well acquainted. Arthur is at home watching the children. Didn't feel safe leaving them there alone, and it was _his_ turn." Molly's eyes twinkled mischievously at the last bit. "I need to get out too every once and a while."

Ella nodded in understanding, smiling as the older witch led her to the table everyone was gathering around. Sliding into one of the old chairs – this one had an uneven leg and rocked as she settled in – Eleanor sipped her tea and watched Severus stiffly sit at the other end of the table. He always took great care to keep his distance from her around other people, especially at Order meetings.

Minerva McGonagall straightened her hat so it stood at attention before she began. "Albus is set to bring Harry to the Burrow," the witch nodded to Molly, "very soon where he will stay until the end of summer. In the meantime he is traveling and has asked we retain our partner system."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement. The sobering mood permeated everyone at the well-worn table, no one wanted to let slip the names of the recently deceased. They had been paired up for safety, and to allow for emergency communication in the event one of the partners was incapacitated, for quite some time. Remus had been Sirius's partner, and now he fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. Tonks was staring hard at Lupin, nails dug into the table. She had been paired with Kingsley Shacklebolt, a convenient placement considering their professions.

Eleanor and Snape had been paired up, much to the latter's annoyance but it was hard to dispute the logic. Ella wouldn't have minded Tonks. She was, normally at least, a lot of fun and very adept to defensive magic. The young witch had even known about Eleanor's Quidditch career, and though it greatly embarrassed her, Ella couldn't help but feel pretty cool when Tonks had her sign an old game stub. It had been one of those rare moments where she felt like somebody, and that her athletic career hadn't been a complete waste.

Ella felt her tea starting to cool too much, but she hardly felt it appropriate to fix it in the middle of the discussion. The attacks on the wizarding community and the muggle community were becoming more frequent and causing real panic. Diagon Alley had suffered a blow, and Ollivander's had closed as its owner had vanished. Ella was lucky she had replaced her wand beforehand. The thought of the kindly old wizard in any sort of peril made her stomach churn painfully. He had an amazing memory, and knew exactly what wand to pull for her the first time. Eleven inches, alder, dragon heartstring. But one quality had changed, one that Mr. Ollivander regarded mysteriously. Her first wand had been flexible, and her new one, unyielding.

Kingsley shifted in his seat, clearing his throat lightly as he laced his fingers in front of him. "The Auror office has made arrangements for the safety of Hogwarts students, and the details were finalized today. There will be staff patrolling Platform 9 ¾ on the days when students and their families will be present. Hogwarts will also have a group of Aurors on the grounds at all times. Tonks will be one of them."

The witch nodded her head, still rather glum. It was disturbing to see her sit still for so long.

"Meanwhile, our new Minister of Magic will try his hand at damage control," Moody grumbled from the corner of the room, nibbling on a hard biscuit. "We'll see how long he lasts."

"With luck, he will remain for a while," said Snape coolly. "It is the Dark Lord's ambition to have full control of the Ministry, and every opportunity will be seized."

"There are already Dark wizards moving into the office," added Lupin, a dark expression across his marred face. "It's only a matter of time before it will crumble completely."

Mrs. Weasley huffed with worry, her short ginger curls twitching. She seemed eager to get to her feet when the clock chimed its late hour and the group began to wrap up their discussion, the problem of loose dementors still left without a working solution.

Eleanor slipped upstairs to use the bathroom, and as she made her way back down the chattering of an old woman wandered out from behind a thick velvet curtain in the hall.

"The filth in this house!" the woman exclaimed, voice rising high enough to hurt Ella's ears.

Eleanor had heard the woman speak before, but never set eyes on her portrait. Her fingers tugged away the drapery to get a glimpse of the offending lady. Fair haired with a proud, sharp chin, Walburga Black glared at her with the intensity of a living, breathing being.

"Remove your dirty fingers from there immediately!" she shrieked.

Eleanor held fast to the cloth as the woman asked her name in a very rude manner masked with aristocratic grace and decadent jewelry.

"Eleanor Bristow."

"_Bris_-tow!" the woman hissed scornfully. "An old line full of underachievers! That and filty half-breeds they tried to sweep under the rug. All that pruning gone to waste when Susan Brimble marred their tree with her open tolerance of _Mudbloods_."

Ella fumed at the mention of her mother. "Susan _Bristow_ did not ruin our family tree. She was a good woman who helped others. And there is nothing wrong with Muggle-borns, they're exactly the same as the rest of us, you old hag."

Walburga recoiled as if struck, a ghastly expression wrinkling her nose and curling her lips. "The both of you are good for nothing blood traitors, tainting the respectability of wizards everywhere. You don't deserve your magic! It's bad enough to have half-breed blood flowing through your veins!"

Eleanor's fingers tightened on the curtain, itching to rip the painting from the wall and smash it. Before she could retaliate, Mrs. Black puffed up her chest and eyed the hallway behind Eleanor.

"If it isn't the half-blood Prince here to invade the home of my fathers again," she jeered in a shrill voice. "Feeding off the true heirs of magic, letting Mudblood trash walk these halls and half-breeds touch my things!"

Ella looked over her shoulder to find Snape standing near the old china cabinet. His eyes were locked on Walburga, brimming with silent hate. It was the same look he gave Sirius at meetings, lips pulled into a reserved sneer and eyes like chips of black ice. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger, to have that gaze upon her. It was, however, perfectly appropriate for Walburga Black, thought Ella hotly.

"It's time to go," he said to Eleanor softly, irritation leaking into his words and clipping them short. "Close up that wretched thing and get ready."

Ella was glad to shove the heavy velvet back into place, not without giving the woman a very childishly rude face, and race down the hall to the kitchen. The group was beginning to disperse, leaving in pairs with a small interval of time in between. Eleanor hugged Mrs. Weasley as she stepped out behind Minerva. Remus gave her one last, weak smile. There were mutterings of goodbyes as the crowd thinned.

Snape and Ella were the last to leave Twelve Grimmauld Place. The door slammed shut behind them as they ventured down to the street, wands out and eyes alert. A group of muggle teens had taken up residence on a curb a few yards away, their faces momentarily lit up as they held lighters to their cigarettes.

"This way," Snape muttered and turned away from the motley group for a darker, unpopulated part of the street.

Eleanor felt a bit of excitement knowing they would apparate back to Cokeworth any minute. She hoped for another slip in Severus's usual indifference and aversion to physicality. Holding his hand felt… right.

As the two of them rounded the corner to escape from a blinking streetlamp, a flash of violet flew from the darkness. Snape had countered, barely lifting his wand in time to shatter the burst of magic. A brief gust of wind blew against them as the force behind the blow dissipated. Snape stepped into a dueling stance as Ella tried to steady her hand. She couldn't see anyone down where the curse had come from. Another flew towards them and burst with a crack against Snape's _protego_.

Blindly sending an _expelliarmus_ into the dark, Eleanor braced for a counter. Snape sent a ball of light towards the source of the last curse, illuminating several dark figures running in their direction. The street suddenly erupted in flashes of light, curses and hexes flying in both directions in a flurry of colours. Eleanor could feel the impacts as she blocked, her dueling skills very under practiced leaving her charms lacking as much power as Snape's. He moved fluidly, lips barely needing to utter incantations as curses flew from his wand. He used much darker magic than she was familiar with. Bodies hit the pavement, yet some were still thundering towards them, their shapes now better defined as they closed in.

A burst of red light caught Eleanor off guard and knocked her into the air. She landed several feet away on her side, rolling to a stop. Her fingers were still locked around her wand as she pulled herself up. She aimed a stinging jinx at the nearest figure, who yelped when it hit.

Snape suddenly bolted from his position towards her. He grabbed onto her protectively and the ground lurched away, swirling the now defined faces of their attackers into a blur of sickening colours.

With a pop, the two of them landed in a damp, dark alleyway. The air was still and quiet between the brick walls with no signs of a magical scuffle. Ella remained firmly wrapped up in Snape's arms, feeling his heart beating wildly against her. He seemed to catch his breath and slowly let her go, his eyes trained on either end of the alley intensely.

Ella's ears were still ringing, thunderous in the quiet. She recognized the familiar shapes of the homes of Spinner's End peeking out from one end of their hideout. Relief washed over her and she uncoiled her fingers from their white-knuckled grip on the handle of her wand. Little red crescents had formed from her nails and stung lightly. Snape still stood remarkably close in front of her, his wand raised defensively as he scanned for wizards and muggles alike one last time.

"Are you hurt?" his voice was soft, barely audible. His eyes shifted to look at her as he maintained his stance.

"No," she replied quietly. "Are you?"

He shook his head, pocketing his wand. He looked calm, as always, but his movements were sharp.

"Who were they?"

"Hard to say," Snape replied, still very quiet. "Likely mediocre thugs out taking advantage of the recent hysteria.

"Switch now before a Muggle spots you," Snape said as he led the way down the slick cobblestone.

Ella trotted behind him, still human. "Do you know where Dumbledore is going?"

Snape kept walking, taking long strides in an effort to outrun her. She hopped with each step trying to keep up and opened her mouth to ask another question, one of many buzzing in her mind. She was still jittery from the skirmish, hardly believing it was a coincidence.

"I thought I instructed you to change," his words were short and blunt.

Eleanor's spirits fell. She stopped trying to keep up with him. She hardly spoke to him lately, and she felt left out on a lot of topics during the Order meeting. Reluctantly, she shifted into her fox form, sliding onto the smooth cobblestones with her snout low. She slowly approached the door to Snape's home, but hurried inside after catching sight of his impatient glare.

There was a loud clambering inside the living room as Wormtail rushed away from the dirty window, looking at them wide-eyed with his thinning hair puffed out around his head like a dirty cloud. Eleanor flattened her ears and studied the man as he tried to nonchalantly settle on the sofa. Perhaps he had spotted her change.

If the same thought had occurred to Snape, he did not show it. He simply removed his cloak and hung it on the hook by the door before journeying into the kitchen for a glass of red wine. Eleanor stood by the door, wishing she didn't have to shut herself in again. Pettigrew watched her closely, his beady eyes glinting in the dim light. Part of her wanted to walk over and bite his frayed pant leg, but she was wary of him. She was no Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat had made that very clear, instead teetering between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Self-preservation, a Slytherin trait, somehow lost to her curiosity and thirst for knowledge, the Hat had said. Snape seemed to be an unusual Slytherin ever since she met him. He was clever and very much an introvert, yet he lacked the disdain shared by the highborn "purebloods" that frequented the house. Ambition, cunning, and self-preservation. Not to mention an uncomfortably strong interest in the Dark Arts.

Snape would be a fair Ravenclaw, she had decided. He was very intelligent and loved books, and was very dedicated to his work. She wondered if he would have been a little mellower if he had been sorted differently.

Wormtail was once a Maurauder, the least known or cared about member of the notorious prankster group. Their legend passed down to Eleanor's class, who shared a few years with them at the height of their celebrity status. She hadn't minded them much, except during Quidditch when Ravenclaw matched up against Gryffindor. She spent most of her time reading in the library or in their airy, circular common room. She was a frequent visitor to the Forest, too, and would sneak into the greenhouse to snatch samples of plants every now and again. She noticed the Maurauders most when they caused a scene during meals. It was hard for her to believe someone as cowardly as Pettigrew made it into Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff.

Snape cleared his throat and she took it as her cue to leave. Racing up the stairs, she missed the beginning of the conversation between Snape and Wormtail, but for once she didn't want to hear it. Something about their encounter near Grimmauld Place had shaken her. Flopping down on the bed, Eleanor knocked off a couple of books. They tumbled with a loud clattering, making her heart race uncomfortably as she had not placed a silencing charm yet, and landed awkwardly, bending some of the old pages into ugly creases. A couple sweeps of her wand and rushed incantations and her room was secure again, but she worried Wormtail might have heard. Gingerly, she collected the books from the floor, trying to right the poor pages back into place when something caught her eye.

Inside the inner cover of _Experimenting with Spells_ was a signature: Property of the Half-Blood Prince. The script was a tight scrawl that looped and crossed just like the note buried on her nightstand. Her fingers traced the letters as Walburga's words came screeching back into memory. Half-blood Prince. It was the same thing scrawled across the inner cover of the copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ she held onto since she found it during her seventh year at Hogwarts that had now been missing for a while.

Quickly she rifled through the other books and discovered two others containing the same message. The writing was undoubtedly Severus's, done with a more patient hand than his usual notes to her, but she had a hard time connecting what the label could mean to him. The more she thought on Mrs. Black's words, the angrier she became. _Half-breed_, she thought as she dressed for bed rather violently, slamming a book down and shoving dirty clothes into the small hamper within her expandable bag.

"There is nothing wrong with mixed blood," she said softly to herself, needing to hear the words aloud. No matter what people like Walburga Black thought.


	50. Slip of the Tongue

Eleanor's eyes trailed to the door, watching for any flicker of movement. She was sure she had heard Wormtail just outside.

"Could you attempt to pay attention?" Snape's voice grew sharper every time he had to wrestle her attention from searching for Wormtail. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for her to readjust.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Let's try it _again_," he said coldly. "_Legilimens_."

Walburga Black rushed into view in all her horrible glory. Her cheeks tinged pink as she shrieked at the top of her lungs and the house-elf Kreacher grumbled with a dirty rag in hand. Suddenly, the Room of Requirement replaced Walburga's dusty hall, dimly lit with only Eleanor and Dumbledore within it. Eleanor was making attempts to shift between fox and bird as rapidly as she could. She was seized with a sudden flicker of pain and collapsed in a flurry of feathers.

"Focus," Severus growled at her, momentarily manifesting within the memory.

A tiny kitchen appeared, with rain-battered windows and a loudly ticking clock. Eleanor and her father sat at their small table eating breakfast in silence. Mr. Bristow was wearing a St. Mungo's uniform and rifled through the newspaper that was folded awkwardly beneath the plate of toast.

"Buck up, Ella," he said. "London is wonderful, you'll see."

"Right," Eleanor let her spoon fall into her bowl loudly and eyed the dreary weather outside. "Lots of trees."

The man gave her a stern look. "I've wanted a job at St. Mungo's for years. This is a big opportunity for us. Besides, you'll be heading to Hogwarts soon enough. Plenty of trees up there."

Ella cocked her head to one side, tossing her long, curly hair over her shoulder, narrowly missing the open jar of jam. She sighed haughtily and smashed her toast in her fist, letting the crumbs collect on the table.

"What am I supposed to do all day? Not much fun being at a _hospital_," she said sharply.

"We'll bring all the books and coloured pencils you want," her father replied in a pleasant voice. "Maybe you could learn a thing or two about healing. Or we could enroll you in a Muggle school for the time being."

Ella gave him a sour look, "It's so boring. Muggle kids are _boring_."

Mr. Bristow ran his hand through his short auburn hair and sighed, "You did so well. Besides, you know how Mum was about learning to like Muggles."

"I like them well enough," Ella said quickly. "I just think they're boring. They don't know about _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_, or Quidditch, and they think witches are green and ugly and have warts and -…!"

"Just think about it," her father cut in after taking a long gulp of coffee. "You did well at it."

Ella tossed her red hair over the back of her chair and swung her legs – which didn't quite reach the floor yet – watching the rain come down. The scene suddenly darkened and the sound of the rain became deafening. A dark street unfolded with shop lights going out as cars went by now and again. A few people were out on the sidewalks, hurrying along in the rain with umbrellas and bits of newspaper held hopelessly over their heads. A young Eleanor crossed the street with her mother, who ushered her along under their blue umbrella with a calm smile. A scream came from behind. A group of wizards with dark cloaks was attacking a Muggle family, pinning them against the brick wall of a shop. The mother screamed louder as her husband was hit in the face and she tried to shield the three children huddling against her. Her eyes were wild, fixed upon the wands with a mixture of terror and confusion.

Eleanor's mother let go of her daughter's hand, "Stay here, sweetheart."

The woman tucked a brunette lock behind her ear and drew her wand. One of the men was knocked aside, splashing into a dirty puddle in the street.

"Leave them alone!" she bellowed, holding her wand steady. A barrage of curses erupted, cracking loudly in the air and exploding in dazzling colours. One of the men had seized a small boy around the neck.

"What're you doing defending Muggle _trash,_" he shouted at Mrs. Bristow as one of his companions started for Eleanor.

An explosion of light came again, with a jet of bright green hitting both Mrs. Bristow and one of the Muggle children. The woman fell to the ground heavily, her wand sliding from her fingers. Her brown eyes were dull and fixed as rain fell upon them.

"Mummy!" Eleanor screamed and bolted for her. One of the wizards caught her around the middle and yanked her into the air as she kicked and shrieked furiously. Ella raked the man's face with her fingernails and went strangely silent as she glared at him intensely. The Muggle father, trying to come to grips with the situation as his wife sobbed over her child, shouted for them to go. Just as he finished, the storefront windows beside them shattered with explosive force. Eleanor was the only one who had not flinched. Instead she scrambled to her feet after the man had dropped her in an attempt to shield his face and snapped his wand over her knee with a shower of sparks.

This action had prompted the group of men to advance on her in a shocked rage. Before they could harm her, she let out an earsplitting scream and the windows on both sides of the streets all blew out in another burst of raw magic. Aurors popped into view, quickly advancing on the scene as Eleanor threw pieces of glass at the men while the Muggles yelled in alarm before promptly being silenced with stunning spell and a memory charm.

Snape pulled away from the memory, letting his room quickly rush back around him. He didn't feel comfortable scolding her for her lack of concentration after catching sight of the tears falling down her freckled cheeks. In fact, he didn't feel comfortable looking at her at all. Though he didn't understand motherly love in the way that Lily or Eleanor had, he knew that sort of reaction was considered normal. Even he cried when his mother passed away, but briefly and after some time of learning about it. He told Lily why he had been quieter than usual after she confronted him about it. Lily had cried, too, and tried to comfort him, despite his resoluteness on not feeling much for Eileen. She had been a ghost of a mother that had drifted away from him and denied him the attention and warmth other children received. He felt loss, but not in the way he felt it when he found Lily the night she died.

Eleanor wiped her face hastily and mumbled another apology. His impatience had vanished and he shrugged it away. It was too easy to dig through her mind today, and Severus had a bit of guilt for touching on sad memories. He watched her eyes trail to the door once more. Wormtail had been quite the nuisance since he had started listening at the doors more closely.

Suddenly, a bright and familiar pain shot up his left arm, burning with such intensity that he gnashed his teeth together and cringed. Somewhere in the hall, a soft thud followed by a yelp rang out. Stiffly, Severus rose to his feet to gather his cloak and gloves, feeling Eleanor's gaze upon him every step he took.

"We're done for the day," he hissed, still feeling the sting of his Mark. The meeting would be very significant for the Dark Lord to summon them during the daytime hours. He glanced at Eleanor, who still sat rigidly in her seat, and wondered why she had not unleashed an avalanche of questions. As he pulled on his gloves, she sat there silently studying the wood grain on the floor.

Unsure of what to say, he made for the door after hearing Wormtail thunder down the stairs. As his fingers touched the doorknob, Eleanor spoke without turning around, her head bowed low.

"Be careful," she said very quietly. It was not a command. It was a pleading whisper that took Severus by surprise.

He shut his door tightly behind him and joined Wormtail in the quick dash to the blocked alley where they would apparate. Snape wasted no time in leaving, giving no acknowledgement to Wormtail as he did so. Little Hangleton rushed into view before Snape could even glimpse at Pettigrew's large teeth and twitching lip. The sleepy air of the village was chilling, with a clinging mist that eerily occupied every inch of the overgrown lawn before the men, shining strangely under weak sunlight. Ever since the Dark Lord had murdered the muggle groundskeeper, the mansion's lawn had taken on a particularly wild appearance. Weeds shot up everywhere, with rough leaves and thorns sprouting up dangerously close to the worn path to the gate.

The scent of rust and dirt filled Snape's nose as he led the way to the house, far more pleasant than the dank interior of Riddle Manor. Light filtered in through the boarded up windows, illuminating the dust that filled the air. Several men in dark, hooded cloaks and garish masks were scattered throughout the first floor, and Severus paid no mind to them. He moved purposefully and quickly to the drawing room where faint voices began to trail out of.

As Severus turned into the room, a concussive blast flew in his direction blowing his dark hair back. The curse hit the man just to Snape's left, Gibbon, who fell into the dirty wall with a sickening thud.

"Ah, Severus," said Voldemort with threateningly light voice. "Just in time."

Snape felt a flicker of deep satisfaction at the sight of Pettigrew's face when he failed to receive the same welcome.

"I assume we have no more distractions," began the Dark Lord as he paced about the room, eying each one of his companions carefully. "So we can begin with our little chat."

Everyone looked uncomfortable as they made their reports one by one. As they did so, people would trickle out leaving behind the same few that always remained at the end of meetings. Snape likened it to the sand running from an hourglass, it happened like clockwork. Giants were slowly starting to come around to their cause, dementors were gathered far from Azkaban and breeding, bringing the thick mist that seemed to be growing worse each day, and the number of Mudblood attacks were growing. All of this seemed to placate the pale wizard pacing at the center of it all, but his praise never came for these followers. The Dark Lord was very selective with his flock, more often hexing for the sheer thrill of it, cackling as the wizard would stumble away with some grotesque disfigurement. Snape could not deny he still felt very pleased with himself when a doting word found its way to him.

As the crowd thinned to Bellatrix, who sat brooding in the corner up until this point like a neglected pet, Wormtail, and himself, Snape began to wonder what was in store. The room took on a more chilling atmosphere as the dark wizard finally settled into a large, moldy armchair. He surveyed the group for a moment, and then with a great suddenness shouted, "Wormtail!"

The small man cringed horribly and crawled closer to his master with great trepidation. "Y-y-y-yes, my Lord?"

"Fetch the Carrows," barked Voldemort coldly, each word causing the sniveling man to flinch. "Gibbon, Rowle, and Yaxley. I will have a word with them."

Wormtail bowed low, "Yes, m'Lord."

His leaving seemed to have taken longer than desired, as Voldemort lifted his wand delicately and zapped Wormtail with a boil-inducing hex. The man scurried out of the room, leaving its occupants in an awkward silence. Snape could see Bellatrix sneering at him from across the room, everything about her haughty smirk made his skin crawl. Slowly, the Dark Lord rose to his feet with all the elegance his appearance lacked.

"I wish to speak to Severus _alone_," he spoke softly, but each word was a cutting blow to Bella. "Wormtail has summoned the ones you've asked for."

She stood stiffly, lower lip quivering like a child being scolded by a parent. All of her rage was turned on Snape, who received a horrid look from her as she flew from the room cursing quietly. Once the door was closed between them, Snape could hear Bella screeching obscenities to the small crowd gathering elsewhere.

A cold hand slipped onto Snape's shoulder and immediately he checked his mental blocks, ensuring his hands would remain steady and his voice even. He was in control. Despite how long he had dealt with Voldemort, Snape never felt at ease around the wizard, and was glad for this. The moment someone stepped out of line, slipped up, they met their demise. Their ends at the Dark Lord's hands were not always swift. More often, Severus had watched witches and wizards have limbs removed, eyes exploded, skin scorched, and turn on one another under the Imperius curse.

"I admit, Severus, I am getting impatient," hissed the Dark Lord, words dripping with fake emotion. "And after Lucius's failure, I am finding it harder to find reliable wizards among us. I am grateful for you. You have, for all these years, been very useful."

Snape nodded curtly, the sickly scent of decay and metal filled his nostrils. The pale wizard's narrow eyes lit up, his movements becoming more theatrical as a wicked smile played on his thin lips.

"However, I find hope in the younger generations as we speak. Already they are flocking to our cause with the same desire for a world with pureblood values, and their eagerness gives me the strength to continue our fight.

"Young Draco is an example of that. Already he has committed to us and I have decided to honor that eagerness with a chance for glory," Voldemort closed his eyes and nodded approvingly to himself. "A chance to erase the _embarrassment_ of his father. I hope that you will keep an eye on him as he fulfills this task?"

"Of course, My Lord." The last he had seen of the young Malfoy boy was at the meeting earlier this summer where he was branded with the Dark Mark, and cried pitifully much to the embarrassment of his aunt. He could only imagine what the boy would be like at school. His answer seemed to pacify Voldemort, who grinned to him revealing a row of pointed teeth. The lack of emotion behind it left the gesture very discomforting.

That smile lingered with him the rest of the day, even after their discussion of Draco had ended. Snape's mind was whirring from the overwhelming plan that lie ahead, how he would discuss it with Dumbledore, and how he would fit himself within it. All of this swiftly kept in check as the telltale tugging on his thoughts began. The Dark Lord's method was not so precise and efficient as Severus's own, it took a more forceful approach that left Snape reeling afterwards.

"Has Wormtail been of use to you?"

Snape wanted to snort from the irony of the question, but outwardly he remained emotionless. "He has been reluctant, but I am sure he will be useful when needs arise."

Snape was sure the need would never arise for Peter Pettigrew to be useful to him. All the same, Voldemort appeared satisfied with his answer. "He will return to me when you return to your post," the Dark Lord said, a veiled command. "In the meantime, enjoy what enfolds, my slippery friend. The times are changing in our favor."

* * *

><p>Eleanor had noticed Snape returned from his latest meeting with the Dark Lord in a very bitter mood. He sat in his armchair by the fireplace with his fingers laced below his chin, deep in thought, well after he made his report to Dumbledore. Whatever troubled him, he did not discuss. Yet the atmosphere of the house was very tense, even Wormtail was more quiet than usual.<p>

Eleanor tried to shut out the unease with a quick brew of a hair tonic she was nearly out of – and luckily had the ingredients for – and absorbed herself into her reading again. She had found a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ on Snape's shelves and as it had been ages since she last looked through it, she couldn't help but re-read it. The illustrations were just as fascinating as they had been the first time she read it. It was one of the books that really got her thinking into serious potion making, showing possibilities they didn't explore in potions class, things that were at once fantastical and unethical. Pushing those boundaries had their allure.

That evening, Eleanor sat outside Snape's door, ready to start another occlumency lesson. Snape was a creature of habit, breaking routine was not normal. She thumped her tail against the floor impatiently. Something had been bothering him from his last Death Eater meeting, something beyond the usual horrors she expected from such an event. Part of her wished she were learning legilimency instead, just to have a chance to see what he thought about, or _his_ memories for a change. The only things she knew beyond their day-to-day interaction came from the pool of memories she looked into when she peeked into the penseive not long ago. Guilt resurfaced, a sour taste in her mouth.

Severus appeared in the hall and let her into his room without a word. Sliding against the doorframe, Eleanor barely made it in before the handle clicked shut. He seemed just as put out as he did earlier. Glad to slip back into human form, Eleanor stretched lightly before taking her seat. She needed to make more of an attempt today; Snape was in no mood for lax efforts. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a very quiet sigh, the crease in his brow more defined than usual. She knew better than to ask what was bothering him.

"When you're ready," he grumbled.

"I am," she said brightly, sitting up straight.

His dark eyes met hers and she braced herself, feeling the familiar tugging sensation in her thoughts. She couldn't think about anything right now, she needed to drop her worrying. She needed to think about her forest, and meditate. Ella took in a big breath and let it out, seeing the trees begin to take shape. She was doing well, she assured herself as the gentle breeze took the leaves around her. She could see Snape standing in the dappled light, sticking out like a sore thumb in his dark robes amid the cheerful greens and earthy browns.

Ella found herself wandering back to her worrying. What had happened at his meeting? Where was Dumbledore traveling? When would Wormtail go? As the thoughts began piling up, the tugging sensation magnified. The wind picked up in her tranquil wood, and it was becoming darker, dimmer.

_Concentrate_, she told herself firmly but the strength she willed did not come to her. As her meditation space became more turbulent, she realized by now he would have been pulling at memories. But for now, nothing came to mind despite her knowing she was far too distracted to keep Snape at bay. Why wasn't he doing anything?

Then, realization washed over her like cold water. He wasn't looking at memory. He was looking into conscious thought. Startled, she tried to let go of the connection like he taught her but it held fast. In fact, she could feel an overwhelmingly strong presence that quite stubbornly refused to leave. She stood up and backed away, yet his hold refused to loosen. It was a strange, alien feeling that started to suffocate her even after she looked away. Her mind was an open book, no privacy or refuge left.

"Stop," she said in alarm. "Please, stop it!"

At last the stifling feeling relented, allowing her to breathe more easily. Snape simply sat back, satisfied.

"That," he said quietly, "is what it feels like when the Dark Lord takes a passing glance at your mind."

Ella looked at him in disbelief. That was far worse than she anticipated, and far more than she could admit to handling.

"Do you understand the danger you put us all in?" His words were low and dangerous. "This is not a game. No one is going to go easy on you."

Feeling very childish, Eleanor slid back into her seat. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Dumbledore is very foolish if he thinks your being here helps _at all_," Snape hissed coldly. "I don't have time to babysit a useless witch in addition to the vermin downstairs."

"I am not useless," Eleanor whispered firmly, the comment striking a nerve.

"You are _weak_. You have no control. You have no idea what lies ahead if you continue this path," his voice grew sharp. "Your stupidity and stubbornness will get more people killed than you realize!"

"I am _not_ stupid!" Eleanor stomped her foot against the bare wood floor with all her might.

"Then why do you persist in following me about knowing my connections to one of the deadliest wizards of the age? Why are you putting yourself in such a moronic situation with no skill in defending yourself against the Dark Arts?"

His words ignited a fury in her that burned through any restraint she had. "I learned about the Dark Arts same as you. I can defend myself."

"No better than a child," he scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

Eleanor flew to her feet, knocking over the worn wooden chair she had been sitting in with a loud clatter. "Can you really not imagine why I have put myself here? Put up with all of _this_? Are you that bloody thick?"

He arched a dark eyebrow, taking in the sight of her. Ella's red hair stuck out in all directions as it tried to escape the loose bun she had attempted to tame it in. Her cheeks were beginning to resemble her hair.

"Dumbledore _asked_ me to keep an eye on you," she said firmly. "He's _concerned_ for your safety, with good reason, and knows it's his fault you're in this situation. I wanted to help."

Snape rolled his eyes, "I do not need supervision, least of all from you."

The guilt and sentimentalism the old man felt was nothing new. Dumbledore had always remained stiflingly close ever since his return to Hogwarts to ask for his help. "Is he blackmailing you, or are you just humoring him to get a promotion? Whichever the case, you seem to take great pride in pestering me."

Eleanor looked livid, biting her lip as her gold eyes burned an intensely uncomfortable glare down at him. He had touched a nerve, especially by bringing up Umbridge's memory. His fingers tightened around his knees in preparation of her next outburst.

"I didn't do it just because he asked," she snarled, a large chunk of her hair spilling onto her shoulder. "And I didn't do it to _pester_ you."

"Then enlighten me," he said tartly, "as to why you have decided to grace me with your presence."

"I'm here because I want to protect you, Severus," she said, her cheeks rapidly turning red. "Because I care about you."

His expression softened, and Snape appeared mildly shocked. She met no sardonic remarks, no harsh criticism, nothing except a piercing stare that began to make her feel far more embarrassed than she already was. In fact, she had rather anticipated him to be disgusted by the notion, knowing him. But she hadn't planned on telling him, even if he wasn't adept at acknowledging feelings other than irritation. It simply slipped out.

His silence cemented her fears. There was no telling what was processing in that brilliant mind of his, but to her surprise she noticed a faint blush forming on his pale face. An awkward silence prevailed between them and Severus shifted uncomfortably.

Suddenly, a loud pop jolted Snape to his feet, hand already on his wand. A small house elf in a faded maroon sweater shook his head and looked up at Snape with very large eyes. A gold "H" was embroidered into the thinning fabric, close to where the elf was tugging at a loosening seam with fretful hands. Eleanor let go of her chest and took a deep breath, still feeling the shock of the moment.

"Headmaster sends for Potions Master Snape," the elf said matter-of-factly.

Before either Snape or Ella could react, the elf snatched Snape by the hand. They both vanished with another loud pop. Eleanor had jolted after them, but the elf had been too quick for her. Her hand lingered where Snape's had been for a moment longer. Regret filled her stomach with an unpleasant feeling, fueled by slow-rising anger.

Quickly she made her way back into the hall. Wormtail's door was closed, yet a thin band of bluish light escaped from under the damaged door. Ella felt her cheeks burn as she slammed her door into place along with the proper charms. She kicked her tattered muggle first aid book into the wall out of frustration.

"_Stupid_!" she hissed to herself.

Instantly she felt bad for taking her anger out on the little book. It was lying pitifully against the wall, covers opened awkwardly as if it were cowering in fear. It opened to a page with a little note attached she hadn't noticed before. Tentatively, she took up the book, studying the revealed page about resuscitation.

_Curious how a little shock and a breath of air can revive the dying. - A_

The thought resonated with her in a strange way. She flopped into her bed, still clutching the note, and let herself lie in the dark as her heart ached in shame.

* * *

><p>Snape was still reeling from the sight of the sickly old man he had found after the house elf Tolly apparated him to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had been sprawled on the ground, pale faced with a ghastly expression that barely reflected the effect of the curse upon him. After Snape performed a lengthy counter curse, Dumbledore was able to climb into the large chair in his office and wait as Snape returned to his dusty office to brew a curse-suppressing potion to sustain the rapidly dying wizard. With luck, Severus could buy him time, but the grim fact remained that the spell damage was too far for him to reverse.<p>

His hands worked methodically, reaching for a pinch of belladonna, a vial full of crushed moonstone. Severus made the alterations in his head to strengthen the potion, trying to make up for the lack of time. Steeping the brew for a few days would magnify its potential, possibly buying years of life back for Dumbledore. Serving it fresh would hardly have any effect at all unless he could reap the most out of it as he could, perhaps a year or so. It was barely a consolation for the weak old wizard that stood as the greatest hope against Voldemort there was.

Quickly, Severus bottled the thick, golden potion and turned off the burner beneath his cauldron. With luck, it would be sufficient. He jogged the entire way to Dumbledore's office, his lungs cursing him after the initial stretch. But time was essential; he would deal with his weak legs later.

Dumbledore sat slumped in his chair like a dying king upon his throne, the cursed hand dangling over the side as black as night. Spell burn frequented cursed objects, and the case Albus had attracted was particularly nasty, magnifying the cursed effect into a very visible mark. Snape procured a chair for himself and a goblet to pour the honey-like potion into. He began a series of incantations with his wand held over Dumbledore's blackened hand as the older man moaned in his semi-conscious state. Slowly Snape moved his wand up Albus's wrist, tracing the edge of the visibly cursed skin, feeling the dark magic pulse against his countercurses. Albus's eyes fluttered open and he tried to speak.

A ring sat on the desk, dull and scratched, but vibrating with the same wicked magic that clung to the old wizard's skin. It was cracked down the side, and the culprit, the sword of Gryffindor, lay close beside it. Taking up the goblet, Severus guided it to Dumbledore's lips when the man was able to move, albeit weakly. Snape waited until the goblet was drained entirely before he spoke.

"_Why_ did you put on that ring?" Snape said flatly, hoping Albus was coherent enough to answer. "Surely you noticed it carried a curse, why even touch it?"

"I was a fool," Dumbledore said quietly, grimacing. "Sorely tempted."

"Tempted by what?" Snape had a hard time imagining a wizard as clever as Dumbledore would fall for such a curse. The man was silent, denying Severus an answer. With so much on the line, why had Dumbledore been so careless?

"It's a miracle you even managed to return here," Snape said furiously. "That ring carried an extraordinarily strong curse. Containing it is all we can hope for. I've trapped it within your hand for the time being."

Dumbledore inspected his blackened hand calmly, with the same placidity as if he were window-shopping. "You've done well, Severus. How long do I have, in your opinion?"

The casual tone of such a question struck Severus rather odd. Hesitating, he replied, "Maybe a year? This sort of magic will not simply go away. It will spread, and strengthen over time. "

"I'm very fortunate to have you, Severus," Dumbledore smiled to him.

"If you had summoned me sooner, if I had more time to steep the potion, perhaps we could have stretched it to years, even decades." Snape felt his forehead creasing painfully as he grew more agitated. "Did you really think breaking the ring would break the curse?"

"Something like that," said Dumbledore, perking up in his chair. "I was delirious, no doubt. Anything seemed reasonable. This just makes matters more straightforward."

Snape stared at the man, bewildered by his nonchalant attitude.

"The matter of Lord Voldemort's plan revolving around me, the one in which the poor Malfoy boy is tangled up in," Dumbledore reminded him.

Snape interrupted, "The Dark Lord does not intend for him to succeed, it's simply punishment for Lucius, and humiliation for the family. Slow torture for his mother when he pays the debt his father owes."

"The boy has a death sentence pronounced upon him, of which I share. I should think the natural successor to the task would be you, Severus. You are closest to me, and very close to Lord Voldemort."

Snape felt a flutter of nervousness; "I think that is the Dark Lord's plan."

"Does Lord Voldemort foresee a time in which a spy within Hogwarts is no longer necessary?"

Snape took a deep breath, "He believes the school, like the Ministry, will soon be in his control."

"And if it does come to pass, I have your word you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore's gaze burned through him, it was something he could not refuse even if he wanted to. Snape gave him a stiff nod and looked to the floor, studying the weathered desk. He could already feel the responsibility weighing him down. Nearby, Fawkes gnawed on a piece of cuttlebone, blissfully unaware of what was happening in the same room. Snape envied the bird's ignorance.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Now then, our first priority would be the matter of Draco. Find out what he is up to. A frightened teenaged boy is a danger not only to others but also to himself. He favors you, offer him help and guidance."

"He likes me much less now that Lucius has fallen out of favor," Snape replied quietly. "He blames me, and feels that I have come to replace his father in the Dark Lord's eyes."

"Try," Dumbledore said firmly. "Just try. I am concerned far less for myself than others who might unknowingly fall into his plans. Ultimately, there is only foreseeable solution to save Draco from the Dark Lord's wrath."

Snape raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Do you intend to let him kill you?"

"Certainly not. _You_ must be the one to do it, Severus."

The comment hit Snape as if he were struck with the sword lying inches from Dumbledore's fingers. Surely he was mistaken. Severus did not want to be the one to bring down the beacon of light that most of the wizarding world looked to. The Order's golden idol. He did not want to kill the man who had helped him all these years, despite any bitterness he felt. The silence between them was interrupted by Fawkes's cuttlebone chunk rattling about.

"Would you like me to do it now?" Snape asked sardonically. "Or would you prefer to compose an epitaph first?"

"Not quite yet," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "The moment will present itself, I should think. Given the circumstances, I expect it will occur within a year."

Snape's eyes fell to the blackened hand resting on the desk. "If you don't mind dying, why not let the boy do it?"

"Draco's soul is not yet so damaged, and I would not have it ripped apart on my account."

"And what of _my_ soul, Albus?"

"It is for you to determine whether or not the act of helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation would harm your soul, Severus. I will die, as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish at the bottom of this year's league, " Dumbledore grinned wistfully at that, "and I should prefer a quick and painless exit than a messy affair with one like Greyback, or dear Bellatrix who likes to play with her food before she eats it."

Snape felt naked before Dumbledore's gaze, which held all of the seriousness his light tone hid. Snape felt his hands shake as he folded them in his lap. He did not have much of a choice in the matter, despite how badly he wished he could say no. Not only would he have Lily's blood on his hands, but Dumbledore's as well?

Snape gave another stiff nod, and Dumbledore appeared satisfied. If the old man was going to get his way, then Snape felt no guilt for asking questions.

"It was your idea that Eleanor experiment with animorphism, was it not?" The question had come out so quietly, Severus was afraid that Albus had not heard him. But, after a moment Dumbledore nodded slowly as if pondering his answer.

"She had already started working on her original form. The fox, of course, quite suiting I should think," he began. "According to her father, she had already begun to partially shift as a child. She was a natural at it, and Transfiguration in general. However, I remember Minerva telling me she refused many of the exercises in class on the grounds that she felt it was cruel to the animals.

I tutored her, like I did Minerva many years ago, in the process as remedial Transfiguration. She mastered it well," Dumbledore smiled as he said this, "and I think my curiosity got the best of me when I suggested experimental animorphism to her. I wanted to see if she could do it, if it truly could be done."

"Knowing full well what has happened before?" Snape asked sharply.

"It was not the wisest thing to suggest to a Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said. "She took it as a challenge and jumped in head first. What came of it surprised us both. The second form was an attempt at a crow – it was her pet at the time, you know – and the third pushed the boundaries of what I thought possible. Minerva even attempted this for a time, achieving that of a hippogriff, but I daresay the aftermath scared her from continuing with it.

I suppose the thing that drove my decision was Eleanor's heritage."

The comment piqued Snape's interest more than the rest of Albus's musings, except perhaps the image of a half-hippogriff McGonagall. He remembered Walburga Black's strange comment the last time they were at Grimmauld Place. "That being?"

Dumbledore smiled with a distant gaze, gingerly rubbing his injured hand, "I found, upon a lengthy discussion with her father about her Transfiguration grades, that her natural disposition for the subject ran down her father's familial line. He, too, was quite good at the subject I might add.

"Somewhere generations back Eleanor shares a nymph ancestry. Not the kind that like to pinch you as you walk by a tree, but the lovely ones who inhabit the heart of our woods and glens. They possess an ability to shift into any natural form at will, and any wizard descended from one retains a strong disposition for such. It can have a positive effect on aging and beauty as well. I have found this true from experience."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he spoke. Snape was struggling to retain all that he had heard, as he had not expected Dumbledore to be so willing to share.

"I admit, after making this connection I let my curiosity get the best of me. Eleanor has damaged her magic far more than either one of us care to admit, which ultimately lies with my poor decision."

"And she is simply saddled with this for the rest of her life?" Snape asked, barely masking the anger he felt. Dumbledore had intentionally enticed a student to learn dangerous magic. It was a recklessness he had not known in the man, akin to his rash decision to put on a blatantly cursed ring.

"I'm afraid so. Not much to be done about it aside from her refraining from the additional forms. Perhaps even animorphism in general," Dumbledore sighed. "It will just put more strain on her. Over time she may lose the ability altogether, perhaps stretching as far as any Transfiguration work."

"Knowing this, why have you allowed her to put herself in harm's way without proper defenses?" Snape hissed indignantly. "We are flirting with disaster each day. Wormtail suspects everything and it is only a matter of time before a slip up-…"

"But Severus, could this be concern for her well-being?"

Snape grimaced, "For our _plans_. For everything we have worked for. Why have you deliberately placed her close to me when everything is so fragile to begin with?"

"I am all too aware of what strain I put you under, Severus. Forgive an old man for wishing you to have some relief," Dumbledore said gently. "I asked her to watch over you in my stead. To ensure you had someone to help you, to confide in."

"I do not wish to confide in her," Snape snapped, temper threatening his tone. "I do not wish to have anything to do with her, Albus. She is distracting, imprudent, and, as you have revealed, weak. What sense is there in keeping her around?"

Dumbledore's smile did not falter. "Old Magic is not dead, Severus. The bond between wizards can be more useful than you realize."

Snape glared at Dumbledore, who was now was entertaining Fawkes as the bird perched upon the desktop. He was repeating himself. Snape did not understand what the old man had meant. Old Magic did not save Lily Evans. In his opinion, it was a silly thing worthy of bedtime stories and nostalgic old women.

"True loyalty is a hard thing to come by nowadays," Dumbledore mused as he stroked Fawkes's chin slowly with his good hand. "A steadfast companion even more so."

Severus remembered Dumbledore saying something similar when he was young, first laying eyes on the brilliant bird perched on a golden hook. Even now, the phoenix's plumage was just as bright and lovely as he remembered, time had no effect upon it.

"I do not need a _companion_," Snape hissed, his eyes on the cooing bird.

"Severus, all I am hearing are things you don't want," Dumbledore spoke with a hint of impatience, a rare thing for the old wizard. "Is there anything that you _do_ want?"

Snape bit the inside of his lip and looked away from Dumbledore's piercing gaze. He had already received the coveted position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, which was, honestly, the only thing he personally wanted. That, and a bit of quiet for himself. His penitence for Lily's death, for his neglect of her and the slip of the tongue that ended their friendship, was not something he wanted, but needed. He had to make amends; in whatever way he could, for her. In a way, he lived for her. In a way, he didn't care who won the wizarding war. He was only fighting for the Order because it was the side Lily had chosen.

"She thinks very highly of you, you know," Dumbledore offered quietly.

Snape frowned deeply, feeling very much like he was in the center of a _Witch Weekly_-worthy matchmaking article. "This entire time, has she simply been here because you thought I required a _companion_?"

"No," replied Dumbledore. "I hired her because she had the skills needed for the position, and frankly was the only one to apply. Septima didn't seem to have much trouble finding a teaching assistant. Nor did Cuthbert, and you know how he is."

Snape rolled his eyes. He only heard what Dumbledore was really saying: she was the only one who was willing to put up with him.

"She had promise, passion, and excellent grades. There was not much against her for the job. However, I did make a mistake by promising her a tenure position too soon."

"You did not consult me about her hiring," Snape said sourly.

"I did not because I already knew what your answer would be, and she deserved a chance." Dumbledore sat back in his chair noticeably drained. "Now, she will work with Horace."

"So he's consented then?"

"Not exactly," Dumbledore smiled mischievously. "But I will present a winning argument, you can be sure."

The phoenix fluttered back to his perch and began gnawing at the remaining chunk of cuttlebone once more with a rhythmic clicking. Snape felt very much like a student hunched over in the small wooden chair before Dumbledore's desk. It was strange to think how much time had passed, how much had changed. The task ahead of him returned to his thoughts, making it difficult to breathe. It seemed an outlandish request, an impossible thing. Albus Dumbledore had been around during his mother's time at Hogwarts. He was not a man to give up on life easily. Snape eyed Albus's cursed hand, hardly believing someone so clever could fall for something such as that curse, practically palpable from its sinister intricacy.

Some part of him still wondered just how much Dumbledore had planned ahead, how much he had his hand in intentionally. Snape wondered just how far he was being played the fool, caught between two powerful wizards competing on a grand scale, and one who was getting a bit carried away with the love advice sandwiched against his knitting pattern articles.

* * *

><p>Eleanor had spent the past couple of days locked tight in her room brewing with the small copper cauldron she had managed to scrounge up. There was still awkwardness around Severus, strong enough for him to cancel an occlumency lesson with her the day following his mysterious exit with the house elf. The time to herself flew by for the most part as she completely absorbed herself in her work. Books surrounded her, sitting within a circle of stack upon stack. Her notebook sat open before her, notes strewn across the pages in a flurry of ink, haphazardly scrawled in the heat of the moment when an idea struck. Something about Dumbledore's note… The little piece of parchment was stuck to the wall before her with a mild sticking charm. It had been the motivation for this brew, and the last, and surely the next one. It was a project worthy of a true potioneer, and one that might come in handy in the coming days.<p>

Ella tipped the last of her hyacinth bulbs into the mix rather carelessly, as she had been writing out the last few steps and paid little attention to them. Some of her potion splashed out and landed on her bare skin. The drops were scaldingly hot, as her burner was on very high, and she jumped in pain, scattering her already messy workspace.

"Ugh, what is wrong with me?" she hissed, trying to wipe off the sticky liquid. The drops had left a handful of red, angry marks on her skin, like her potion was giving her the two-finger salute. She was getting sloppy; it was time for a break. In fact, it was time to get washed up.

Ella stood and stretched, careful not to knock over her cauldron or towers of books. Her burner was now turned down low for the brew to simmer. Weak sunlight streamed in through the dirty window. Clouds had been building since she got up, and it looked as though they would be getting rain anytime soon. The house had been quiet for the day; so quiet she was beginning to wonder if she was alone.

Cracking the door a little, Ella pressed herself against the frame and peered into the hall. Not a sound to be heard, nor a soul to be seen. Snape and Wormtail had been busy lately, she noted as she stepped out into the hall, dashing for the bathroom. Lazily, she shoved the door with her elbow and started to undress for a bath. The stickiness on her leg from the potion made yanking her shorts off a pain. As she untangled her hair from the ponytail holder, the faucets finally started to pour warm water into the tub with a loud rattle. It had become a familiar ritual.

With a towel placed close to the tub, upon which her wand rested, Ella let herself slide into the tub with an ungraceful plop. The water cocooned her in warmth as she sank lower letting the water come up to her cheeks. She had royally fucked up what tenuous amity she shared with Severus. He was not a touchy-feely person to begin with, but for her to have blatantly proclaimed any sort of feelings for him she had to be barking mad. She smacked her head into the side of the tub a few times as she repeated "stupid" under her breath.

But it was true. She couldn't deny it even to herself that she genuinely cared for him. Defining that sort of feeling was tricky, however. They were better off than simple acquaintances surely, but "friends" didn't have the right feel. That brought up images of Francine, Thomas, Gwenog, and Connor, even Daisy. She didn't play Quidditch with Snape, nor did she drink with him, shop with him, share a laugh or gossip. Nothing that sparked the notion of "friends". Had she ever noticed him laugh? She couldn't recall. The fleeting smiles she had caught, not meant to be noticeable, she knew were real, but it was no teary eyed, sore-cheeked laugh.

Ella felt something for Severus she simply couldn't define, which, for a Ravenclaw, was a maddening thing indeed. She liked being around him - even if he was regularly cross - and practically craved it. He was clever, bookish, and, in her opinion, rather handsome if in a different way. She didn't mind how pale he was, or the few wrinkles starting to settle into place in his forehead, or how a few of his teeth were a touch crooked. Ella liked his dark eyes, the depth of them in sharp contrast to her own.

Despite these thoughts, she did not feel like it was some schoolgirl crush. She did not dissolve into a fit of giggles at the sight of him, but she did enjoy the few times he held her hand to apparate.

Smacking her head against the tub once more, Eleanor let out a strangled sigh. This feeling, whatever it was, was exasperating. It was nothing like when she had dated Phillip, or Ethan, or even Thomas, who she had been head over heels for and still regrettably bore a lingering sense of attachment. It was not love, as far as she was concerned, but she did worry for Severus. His recent and frequent absences, and the darkening under his eyes spoke volumes to her. He was running himself ragged and not giving a damn about his well being. Whatever motivation he had was stronger than his will to live.

The water had long since grown cold as she dunked her head under to rinse the last of the soap in her hair. From under the water, she gazed up at the bubbles that clung to the edges of the tub and watched them pop one by one. A dark figure appeared from behind the side of the tub, too blurred from the water for her to make out who it was, but the sight of another person in the bathroom caused her to burst out of the water with fright. Her hand flew to the towel but found her wand was not there.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you anonymous reviewers for taking the time to write to me!


	51. Baptism by Fire

The sky was dark gray, threatening to rain at any moment, filled with the heavy scent of water in the air. Snape was just returning home from a rendezvous with Albus when he spotted his paper still sitting before his door. As he scooped up the mercifully dry Prophet, Snape heard the elderly muggle from next door shrieking a greeting to him. Her voice was as melodious as gravel rubbing against a metal grater.

"Mr. Snape!" she called, waving a plump hand covered in cheap rings. Her charm bracelet clattered noisily as she trotted up to him. "Oh, Mr. Snape!"

The troll-like woman had yet to reach him but he already caught wind of her perfume. Eyes watering, he tried to choke down the stench as politely as manageable. Muggles had no taste in combining scents whatsoever.

"Yes, Mrs. Jones," he asked, feigning interest. He tucked his paper under his arm protectively as a raindrop touched his hand.

"It's been such a while since Harold and I have spoken to you," Mrs. Jones said between gasps of air. "We'd be tickled pink if you and your darling wife could join us for some of my famous pound cake."

Severus stared dumbly at the woman as she tugged at her gray curls with a disgustingly flirtatious smile. _Wife_? He had - most unfortunately - known Florence Jones for years, and she had been batty enough before she began to gray. Now it seemed she had passed into a whole new realm. "I'm sorry?"

Florence pursed her wrinkled, fuchsia lips, "You and your wife? For tea?"

A raindrop landed squarely on his nose, but he didn't bat an eyelash. The corner of his mouth twitched erratically as he struggled to think of what to tell the barmy woman. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean by my _wife_."

"I've already met her," she argued, "not long ago, even!"

"I believe you are mistaken," he said coolly, fumbling for the doorknob as something in his ribcage clenched nervously. "Perhaps another time for tea, Mrs. Jones, you've caught me in a busy time."

Not a moment after he slammed the door in front of the stunned old woman, Snape heard a shriek come from upstairs. He dashed to the stairwell without a second thought, climbing the steps two at a time with his wand out. He didn't even realize what room he had bounded into; only that Wormtail was standing with an extra wand in hand looking far too pleased with himself.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape caught both wands as they flew away from a startled Wormtail. The short man shrank away at once, pressing against the wall to put as much space between him and Severus as possible. Snape seized him by the front of his shirt and pinned him to the wall, feeling the portly man tremble pitifully with his wand pressed to his face.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell!" Eleanor shouted, her voice high and furious.

Snape stared in alarm, wide-eyed, at the red-faced redhead hastily pressing herself against the inside of the tub. She ducked deeper into the water, causing a good amount to slosh out onto the floor, and feebly tried to hide herself from his gaze. Pettigrew eyed her rather blatantly in Snape's grip. Disgusted, Severus shoved the man out into the hall.

"Pretty girlfriend you've got, _Snivellus_," Pettigrew pinched his face into a nasty smile. "The Dark Lord will _love_ to hear about her."

"You idiot," Snape hissed, struggling to maintain his calm. "Do you really think she would be here if he did not know?"

That seemed to draw the life from Pettigrew's glee, his face slowly melting back into a confused, empty stare. "He would have told me! You're just hiding the truth, you're afraid!"

"He does not feel it necessary to feed imbeciles with every last piece of information."

Pettigrew twitched indignantly and his eyes shot back towards the bathroom. They could both hear Eleanor leaping noisily from the tub, the loud sloshing and squeal of wet porcelain quickly followed by a rather ungraceful string of swear words. Hardly ladylike, yet her naked figure had screamed otherwise.

"If you feel so confident, be my guest," Snape feigned indifference. "I wouldn't like to be the one to feed the Dark Lord information he already knows. He is not a patient man. In fact, Ridley made that point very clear last week. As I recall, they are still scraping bits of him from the walls."

"You don't frighten me, Snape," snapped Wormtail, but there was no strength behind his threatening tone, especially not with Snape holding his wand and keeping Wormtail's hostage beneath his own. The stout man's courage seemed to waver greatly after the mention of Ridley. "What use does the Dark Lord have with her?"

Snape glared, hoping to scare Wormtail off the subject. "What use does he have with _you_?"

"I gave the Dark Lord his new body," Wormtail shrieked crossly, holding his silver hand up for Severus to see. "I was and am his most faithful! He trusts me above all others, _even you_."

As he finished, Wormtail's eyes lit up as he stared just behind Snape. Eleanor ducked back behind the doorframe at Snape's gaze, red hair swishing from sight.

"Obviously not," Snape taunted quietly, pressing the tip of his wand into Wormtail's puffy cheek. "You will not speak of this, or I will make a request to the Dark Lord that you follow after Greyback on his 'outings'. He does not seem to require much discretion in the company he keeps."

Wormtail's eyes bulged at the threat and he squirmed away from Snape's grip, no longer bold enough to make a retort. Instead, he scrambled after his wand, which Snape carelessly tossed down the stairwell with a loud clatter. Whipping around, Snape hissed to Eleanor's shy stare, "A word."

She obeyed immediately, following him into his room without a moment's hesitation. After slamming his door shut and placing a number of privacy charms to prevent Wormtail from hearing further, Snape let out the breath he had been holding.

"Would you mind explaining?" Snape could barely keep his voice calm, masking the struggle by speaking very quietly through clenched teeth.

Eleanor stood clutching a white towel around her, her hair dripping onto his floor as she stared at him nervously. Her lips opened and shut without a word passing them.

"It is remarkable," Snape began, "that the wizarding world remains a secret with you running around."

He watched the colour grow brighter in her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean… I thought the door was-…"

"You're lucky Wormtail responds to threats," Snape snapped, a headache building from the horribly complicated situation he now found himself in. "Even so, it won't be long before he says something."

Eleanor looked terrified.

"And my _neighbor_?" Snape added, gesturing wildly in the direction of the Jones's home. "You gave me your word that you wouldn't be seen. By _anyone_."

"I did," she agreed weakly.

"You're not making a convincing argument for that vaunted intelligence you are so apt to remind me of," he growled, visibly disheartening her.

Severus sighed in frustration, burying his face in his hands and letting his fingers rake through his hair. For a while, the only sounds were the drops of water falling from her hair and towel into the growing puddle she stood in. He stared at her ankles through his fingers. What a mess they were in, an absolute mess.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to-… I just-… I'm sorry."

When Snape lifted his head, he was surprised by the earnest look in her eyes, and by the fact he had forgotten she was standing in his bedroom in nothing but a damp towel. His anger abated, he motioned for her to go. He needed to think things through quietly, without a half naked woman in the room.

"My wand?" she asked softly.

Snape had forgotten all about it. Quickly he stood and handed it to her, surprised he had not simply chucked it across the room. In his efforts to avoid eye contact, he managed to get a glimpse of her freckled collarbone before she stepped out of sight and left nothing but a small puddle behind.

* * *

><p>Eleanor listened to the rain beat against the window in the dark. She had long since bottled the over boiled potion she had left in her cauldron, cleared her mess, and gotten into bed. Time had passed, and so had supper, but she remained where she was, curled up in the wrinkled sheet simmering in her shame.<p>

Everything was coming back to bite her, and not making her stay at Spinner's End seem much like a worthwhile concept. She had done more harm to Severus's safety, and her own, than good. Perhaps it would be better for her to make a trip to Brews and Stews off Diagon Alley and remain there until school. If she returned to Hogwarts at all. She toyed with the idea of sending her resignation and finding an apothecary shop that needed a half-decent potioneer, like J. Pippin's or Slug and Jiggers. It might prove to be the only option to protect Snape and the Order from her future screw ups.

After a long while, she could hear someone moving about in the hall. The floorboards creaked and moaned softly under the weight of whoever it was. The stairs took their turn in a symphony of squeaks before the door at the bottom of the stairs silenced them.

* * *

><p>Severus did not sleep. Eleanor's discovery had left him very unsettled, and Wormtail's knowledge of her existence was very discomforting indeed. It was more embarrassment than anything in the muggle's case, though how Ella had managed to cross Florence Jones's path was puzzling to say the least. Snape took pride in his privacy charms, and that included the concealments placed on his windows.<p>

He hadn't even changed for the night, instead Snape was sitting, dressed, at the edge of his bed nursing a growing headache as his mind sought to work out a tentative strategy for the coming days.

_I care about you, Sev. We're the best of friends, don't forget that._

Lily's voice cut into his thoughts like a hot knife. Ashamed of anything he may feel for the redhead down the hall, excepting justified anger; he tried to bury the strange thoughts the best he could. Care could mean a number of things, more like the annoying attachment and sentimentalism Dumbledore so often displayed. Caring about him, as alien as the concept sounded, did not mean she _liked_ him. It certainly did not mean love, either.

His throbbing temples screamed for relief, prompting him to rise and search the kitchen cupboard for any pre-brewed remedies. He passed her door and listened, straining to hear any indication she was tossing about in her sleep as he had grown accustomed to before Wormtail's arrival. It was – mercifully - silent so he promptly descended down the noisy stairs to search for anything to rid him of his headache.

It took the potion a while to kick in, but when it did his head felt sweet relief. Reclining in his overstuffed armchair, Snape tried to examine the possibilities that might remedy the stupidly complicated mess he was navigating through. Not long ago, he had received word from Shacklebolt that two more Ministry members had disappeared. Things were escalating fast. Plans were getting tangled up into a knotted catastrophe of events.

Dumbledore's predicament was a sobering one, bothering Severus even now. Coming to terms with what would inevitably be him killing the aging headmaster would take time and strength Severus could not seem to muster. The thought of it left a foul taste in his mouth.

The steady rain outside lasted through the night and well into the morning. By then Severus had washed up, re-dressed, and began his scanning of the more obscure papers he received, who had somehow managed to discover the Ministry disappearances far quicker than the writers for the Prophet.

The stairwell door opened and shut, alerting his attention to the melancholic fox now in his sitting room.

"Wormtail is not up," Snape muttered flatly, creasing the paper in his lap. "Help yourself."

He watched Eleanor shift to her human form slip into the kitchen from over the edge of his newspaper. Not a moment later, her head popped out from around the doorframe.

"Would you like anything?"

"I've eaten."

Admittedly, he only choked down a single piece of toast and a mug of coffee, but he did not want to interact with her this morning. He was contemplating whether or not to chance a memory charm on Wormtail. Perhaps if he caught him at the right time so he would not suspect. Eyes stinging, Severus tried to blink away the fatigue and focus on the fine newsprint sprawled before him.

When she was finished, Snape heard Ella clean her dishes the muggle way – a peculiar habit they shared – and cross the sitting room at a bounding pace. The books she had borrowed from his shelves had been replaced neatly, the spines sticking out against the rest, lacking the coating of dust that frequented his shelves. The distinct smell of a cauldron burner and the smoky musk of alder clung to her clothes and seeped out from under her door when he had passed it before. She was brewing, but what he could not guess.

* * *

><p>The sky outside remained a drab shade of gray and the rain refused to relent even beyond Wormtail's late rising and meal. The smug confidence the greasy man wore was annoying. Perhaps that memory charm would come sooner, rather than later, Severus thought.<p>

"The kitchen is looking rather poor today, Wormtail," Snape said with an air of boredom. He noted the dishes from Wormtail's brunch were most likely piled in a precarious tower of dried food bits and congealed grease, as Wormtail's content exit from the kitchen had not been announced by the brief clatter of a scouring charm.

"And?" Wormtail squeaked.

"_Tidy_ it."

Pettigrew seemed to struggle for a retort, standing with a vacant, slack-jawed expression for far too long before the smugness returned to his features. He didn't protest, and slipped quietly into the other room thinking himself very grand, very safe. That would change, Snape thought to himself as he turned back to his paper, which he was nearly finished with, distractions aside. His legs and back felt stiff from sitting so long in the worn cushion. The small muggle clock perched on the mantle told him it was past noon. He hadn't gotten up for hours, and his appetite hadn't returned. The faint smell of juniper trailed from upstairs, Ella was still up to her secret brewing it seemed. Just as his eyes settled into the place where they had left off, a gentle knock came at the door.

* * *

><p>Ella crouched low to the ground, planning her next move. She had snuck into the kitchen for a bit of lunch, doing her best to avoid Wormtail as he scoured the countertops.<p>

"Wormtail!" Snape commanded calmly from the sitting room, "Upstairs!"

When Pettigrew left snarling and cursing with his hands dripping wet, Ella slipped under the tiny table, hiding behind the chairs as best she could. If she could get to the worn down old refrigerator, she could scrounge up the sandwich she had hastily fixed earlier before Wormtail got up.

Just as she had made her move, she was startled by the sudden appearance of visitors at the door – made known to her by the squeal of the front door - and retreated back to her table fortress. A woman's voice, soft and lilting, drifted into the kitchen. Straining to hear, and realizing this would be a lengthy conversation, Ella decided to sneak to the doorway, pressing herself against the molding while she craned her neck nervously. She was still hidden from the sitting room, where the others had now settled into the threadbare furniture.

The door to the staircase opened with a loud bang and the scuffling of books rang out from the wooden shelves.

"As you have clearly realized," Snape said silkily. "We have guests."

"Narcissa," Wormtail squeaked, trepidation halting his syllables into a bizarre cadence. "Bellatrix! How charming to-…"

"Wormtail will fetch us drinks," Snape interrupted. "And then he will return to his bedroom. Quietly."

"I'm not your servant!" Wormtail cried indignantly.

"Really?" Snape asked, feigning surprise. "I was under the assumption you were placed here to assist me."

"Assist you, yes – but not to fetch you drinks," Wormtail began to huff as his voice rose. "And certainly not to clean your house!"

"I had no idea you were craving more challenging tasks. This can easily be arranged; there are plenty of dangerous assignments needing a competent wizard. I shall speak to the Dark Lord-…"

"I can speak to him if I want to!" Wormtail shrieked, the nervousness leaking into his voice. Ella could imagine his round cheeks growing red and his eyes bulging out as they did.

"Of course you can," Snape jeered. "For now, some of the elf made wine will do."

After a moment, heavy footsteps announced Wormtail before he stomped into the kitchen bristling with resentment. Ella froze, out in the open. Somehow, he had not noticed her, but once he turned around he surely would. He was clamoring through the cabinets finding three wine glasses. They clinked together loudly when he set them down a bit too hard. If she was quiet, she thought, perhaps she could sneak back under the table.

Wormtail produced a dusty, dark green bottle from a low cabinet after a bit of searching. With a flick of his wrist, the cork popped out loudly and flew across the room, rolling to her feet. He poured the wine sloppily and glanced around for the cork. Ella took this as her warning sign and backed up as fast as her paws would allow. Before she could slide between the chair legs, Wormtail caught sight of her as he clutched the three full glasses. A smug grin appeared on his face, revealing his overly large front teeth.

"Just you wait," he hissed. "You won't be a secret for long."

"Wormtail!" Snape's voice came from the sitting room, jolting Pettigrew to life.

Wormtail's words left Ella very unsettled, refusing to budge until one of the women raised her voice angrily.

"…I was where I had been ordered to be, Hogwarts, where I was to spy on Albus Dumbledore. You know that it was upon the Dark Lord's orders I took up the post as potions teacher?"

Snape spoke with a calm intensity Ella recognized from her time spent with him at school. It was a very forbidding thing to be on the receiving end of, no doubt the reason why so many first years paled at the sight of him, and it veiled his temper just enough to make the other person feel quite uncomfortable without displaying his true feelings. Compared to how he spoke to her when they were alone, it was very formal. But to hear him more at ease was a rare thing she was growing far too accustomed to. It was spoiling her, tricking her into thinking he had softened since she had become his teaching assistant. That was far from the truth. His tongue was a razor, and his temper like a coiled snake.

The woman was at it again, shrieking shrilly in sharp contrast to Snape's silky tone. "I remained! I remained loyal to him, searched for him. I spent many years in Azkaban for him!"

"Ah, yes indeed," Snape replied coolly. "Not much use to him in prison, but the gesture was undoubtedly fine-…"

"_Gesture_!" she screeched. "I endured dementors daily while you were tucked away at Hogwarts playing Dumbledore's pet!"

The racket provided a loud enough distraction to give Eleanor a chance to gulp down lunch. She retrieved the sandwich and a drink, wolfing it down under the table as the madwoman raged on. Her racket was a strange thing to be thankful for, but Ella didn't complain and neither did her stomach. Word of the Order reached her ears, catching her attention. She nibbled the last bit of crust and cheese before sneaking back to her spot by the doorway.

"I have passed on information the Dark Lord has found most useful. Most recently it has led, perhaps you have guessed, to the capture and murder of Emmeline Vance. It certainly helped dispose of Sirius Black as well, though I give you full credit for finishing him off."

Eleanor choked; she had not known about Emmeline. She had simply regarded her absence as normal, thinking perhaps she was ill or had an assignment elsewhere like some of the others. Severus had deliberately given information to You-Know-Who that got her killed, and he didn't even sound sorry for it. She hoped dearly it was just a front, a lie to appease the deranged woman arguing with him. The more she heard him talk of Dumbledore and the Order, the more she began to feel very frightened and very vulnerable. This was a side of Severus she had never seen. This was the one that appeared when he pulled on his black gloves and white mask. The one who didn't seem to mind terribly about getting his neatly gloved hands dirty.

"Severus," a second woman's voice pleaded, threaded with sobs. "My son, my only son… Please! If anyone could help him, it is you."

"You should be proud, Cissy," the first woman said. "If I had sons I would gladly give them up to the service of the Dark Lord. Draco should be proud. In fact, he seems very excited at the prospect-"

Narcissa let out a strangled cry, dissolving into a fit of tears. "He's sixteen! He has no idea what this means, what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why _my_ son? This is punishment for Lucius's mistake, I know it!"

"If Draco succeeds," Snape said quietly, in sharp contrast to the sobbing woman. "He will be honored above all others. He will receive good favor from the Dark Lord."

"But he won't succeed!" she cried. "How can he when the Dark Lord himself has-?"

"_Narcissa_!" gasped Bellatrix, recoiling as if struck.

It was then Eleanor felt daring enough to steal a peak of the room. Snape was seated in his armchair, clutching his glass of wine delicately. His face was blank, just as emotionless as his voice. A fair-haired woman sobbed on the couch, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief while a dark haired woman glared down at her. She did not recognize them at all, but she knew Draco's name. There was only one Draco at Hogwarts; it was Malfoy.

"I cannot change the Dark Lord's mind, Narcissa," said Snape. "But it might be possible for me to help him-"

"Severus!" The blonde woman stood, sloppily discarding her nearly empty wine glass on the worn table. "Oh, Severus, thank-!"

"Swear to it," snapped Bellatrix as she slowly began to circle Snape's chair, her fingers brushing his sleeve. " Your promises are empty words, Snape. Make the Unbreakable Vow. Sure, he says he'll help, Narcissa, when it's _convenient_ for him. If not, he'll just slither back into his cozy little place at Dumbledore's feet.

"Coward."

"Take out your wand," Snape hissed through gritted teeth.

Narcissa turned and gave her sister a very triumphant smile. Bellatrix, stunned, drew her wand and tossed her wild, dark curls from her face. Eleanor fought the overwhelming urge to bolt into the room. Snape couldn't make an Unbreakable Vow to _them_. She eyed the joining tongues of flame that erupted from Bellatrix's wand, encircling Snape and Narcissa's hands, with a burning combination of fear and loathing for the women. Ella told Dumbledore she would protect Snape, and here she wasn't even able to protect him in his own house.

"Will you, Severus Snape," Bellatrix began. "Watch over Draco and protect him from harm as he attempts to fulfill his assignment?"

_No_, Eleanor roared in her head. _Say no!_

But Snape could not hear her silent protest, and replied, "I will."

"And, in the case he should fail," Bellatrix leaned her head against Snape's shoulder as she looked up to him with her dark eyes. He jerked away violently as she continued, "will _you_ fulfill the task the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to do?"

_No!_

Snape hesitated, and a flutter of nonsensical hope filled Eleanor's chest. Whatever this task was, Snape was better off keeping his distance. She leaned farther into the room, watching his lips for his answer.

"I will," he said very quietly, and Bellatrix broke out into a wide grin as the flames ebbed away having left their mark on Narcissa and Snape's wrists. Narcissa smoothed her elegant skirt, looking much more relaxed as she took up her wine once more and finished the last of the blood red liquid and carefully wiped the remnants of her lipstick from the glass. Snape stood stiffly, and Eleanor knew the look on his face as the same bewildered, empty stare he gave her when they first met in Dumbledore's office. He had just given his word to something far darker than she realized, something he seemed to desperately regret.

"I thought I got rid of you outside," Bellatrix sneered in disbelief, dark eyes fastening upon Eleanor with a frightening intensity. Ella had not realized how far she had been leaning into the room, now leaving half of her sticking out in the open, orange fur practically screaming her presence. Hastily she backed out of the doorway, but it was too late. Bellatrix was crossing the sitting room at an alarming pace while her eyes took on a crazed appearance.

"You see!" Bellatrix spat, eyes growing wider with wild panic. "You _see_, Cissy! An auror!"

A jinx whizzed over Ella's ears as she turned to bolt under the table. Her paws slid on the tile as the deranged woman ran into the little kitchen, wand held high above her head and boots clicking loudly on the floor. Her sister's frantic pleas were lost, dying into quiet murmurs before they even reached the kitchen. A barrage of curses flew at Ella, who barely dodged them as she dove for cover. Snape roared for her to stop, but the spells kept flying until one hit Eleanor square in the back. She let out a wild gasp and tumbled into human form. She crashed into the cabinet, wheezing to catch her breath as the curse ebbed away.

"Ha!" cried Bellatrix, "Ha! A spy! I knew it!"

A spell sent Eleanor flying into the far wall like a rag doll before she could draw her wand. Nearby the countertop exploded and bits of splintered wood and stone flew everywhere. Tumbling into a heap, Eleanor let out a strangled gasp when the shock and pain kicked in. Her fingers slipped around her wand and she cast a protego charm in the knick of time, deflecting a violet curse into the wall behind her with a bang.

Eleanor struggled to her feet before flinging a dozen hexes at Bellatrix, each one glancing off the woman's protective charms with a lazy swish of her wrist. Glasses flew from the cabinets and shattered like missiles around Eleanor as she ducked frantically. Frustrated, Ella scooped a chunk of the countertop into her arms and flung it at Bellatrix with all of her might. It arched beside Bella's shoulder before smashing on the floor.

"Are you trying to take my head off?" she screeched indignantly, "Crucio!"

The curse hit Ella with a force she had never felt before, knocking her to the ground atop the bits of debris. White-hot knives were digging into her skin, burning their way into every sinew with a vicious voracity that engulfed her senses, overpowering them until she couldn't perceive anything but the pain. A raw, otherworldly scream escaped her throat, but she couldn't hear herself amid her thrashing. As it grew more intense, the room became harder and harder to make out, becoming shapes of dull colour that swirled about into a dizzying kaleidoscope. The ceiling appeared to be caving in as she felt her body become heavier and heavier until she was sure she had been crushed.

"ENOUGH," Snape roared.

The pain began to weaken, and Ella's vision steadied enough for her to notice she was sprawled out on the kitchen floor with Bellatrix holding her head up by her hair and pressing a knife into her neck. The blade was blessedly cold and sharp as it caressed her skin gently. It seemed a welcome friend at that moment as she gasped for air, hardly feeling the stinging in her scalp.

"I will not have you destroying half my house," Snape said, eerily calm. "Narcissa, please take your _sister_ home. We are done here."

Every inch of her was throbbing, burning, stinging. Her mouth was filled with a strange, metallic taste and nausea reared its ugly head. Ella felt the woman's fingers loosen on her hair. Bella whispered something in a menacingly sharp tone, but it was lost to a shock of pain rising up Ella's back. She cried out in panic as the pain began to start again when the woman whispered a second, "Crucio."

"I said, enough!"

"Cissy, she is a _spy_!" Bellatrix said wildly, ignoring Snape's command. Ella screamed as the pain began to grow.

"She is none of your concern," Snape replied coolly. "Wormtail! Clean this mess."

Ella felt her head smack against the tile as Bellatrix let go at last and slithered over to her sister with an resentful glare, wand and dagger still poised in each hand. The pain, once again, began to ebb away slowly.

"None of our concern? She heard our entire bloody conversation!" Bellatrix screeched to Snape, as Narcissa nervously held her sister's arm. "When the Dark Lord hears of this-!"

"He will wonder why you and Narcissa have come to speak with me about _certain matters_," Snape relied coolly. "How will you explain your visit?"

Bellatrix glared, purple faced, and violently shoved her dagger into its little sheath secured on her waist. Narcissa whispered a reminder to behave into her ear, digging her neatly manicured nails into the folds of Bella's sleeve.

"She will not reveal anything that has been discussed," Snape said calmly to a fretting Narcissa. "She is completely harmless, I assure you. And I do not need to explain her presence to you, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's lip quivered furiously as she dug her heels into the floor, her question stopped before she could utter it.

"Severus, are you sure?" Narcissa wrung her delicate gloves in her hands nervously.

"You have my word, Narcissa. She is here on orders and will not interfere."

The woman nodded, her pale blonde locks bouncing on her shoulders. Bellatrix was still glaring down at Eleanor's crumpled form, malice glittering in her dark eyes.

"A fine bottle, wasted," Snape muttered. "I will see the both of you to the door."

The wet feeling creeping under her hair was the wine, she realized, that dripped from a half shattered bottle teetering dangerously on the edge of the counter.

"I said clean it up," Snape snapped at the grubby man before turning to Ella. "And _you_, get up."

The harshness of his command visibly wounded her. Seeing her hesitate, he repeated himself in a far more threatening tone. "_Now_. I will deal with you upstairs."

Ella struggled to pull herself up, mesmerized by the excruciating pain and the cruelty of Snape's demeanor. Her hand crunched on a piece of a wine glass, its stem rolling awkwardly towards her leg. The pain was momentarily lost to her as remnants of the cruciatus curse burned and throbbed in every joint of her body.

By some miracle, she was able to get to her feet. The two women watched her carefully; their eyes fixed upon her every move yet Ella hardly saw them. Her vision was blurred and her body off balance as she stumbled past them. Swaying greatly, Eleanor made her way out of the kitchen, past this wicked manifestation of Snape and the grimy man casting a multitude of scouring charms on the floor. Wine dripped from her fingertips as she made her way for the staircase. Behind her, the door opened and shut, and the high pitched clatter of the women's high heels disappeared at last.

Her legs were weights, burdening her already worn body with each step. Suddenly, Ella was seized with a very bright sensation. Her head began to throb and feel funny, her ears full of ringing and her mouth salivating. Her vision was surrounded by an encroaching darkness as she swayed on the stairs halfway up to her room. A rushing sensation took over in her head and for a brief moment she could feel herself losing all energy and becoming lightheaded and very nauseous. At once, her eyes rolled back and she fainted forwards onto the staircase with an audible thud.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you ShadowSSJ & Vaila! :) I'm grateful for you and everyone who reads, follows, favs, and comments. You guys really make my day and make writing this story worthwhile!


	52. The Smell of Comfort & Fear

Severus hid himself behind a book as Wormtail cleaned the kitchen, deliberately acting as though what had happened in the kitchen had not fazed him. Truthfully, he was both furious at and terrified for Eleanor. She had left the scuffle looking very poor; dead-eyed and bleeding. He struggled to keep himself from running to check on her – and yell at her. Of all the idiotic things, she had to eavesdrop on Narcissa Malfoy and her deranged sister. It was a wonder Ella was still alive and his house was still standing.

Snape turned a page, pretending to be absorbed by its contents while Wormtail glanced over at him warily. The ticking of the small clock on the mantelpiece had become thunderous, and despite its even, reassuring tempo the minutes seemed to drag on far longer than normal. Blood roared in Snape's ears as his mind worked furiously, trying to untangle his plan of action. There were so many troubling notions now, so many ways to become ensnared in his tangle of deception.

"Finished," Wormtail hissed, tossing a soiled towel covered in scouring solution and wine onto the ground before Snape. He flopped onto the couch, sending a little bit of stuffing shooting out the side of a ripped cushion.

"Then remove the mud from the doorway," said Snape composedly as he snapped his book shut, unable to stare at the same paragraph any longer, "and refrain from disturbing me any further."

Snape rose and ignored the incredulous look Wormtail gave him, making a beeline for the bookcase door leading to the stairwell. The stout man grunted as he heaved himself off the couch, mumbling curses under his breath. Snape kept his gait slow and fluid as he closed the door behind him, cutting off Wormtail's droning. Tiny drops of blood and wine were smeared on the steps and small, red fingerprints dotted parts of the wall. His eyes trailed upwards, searching for their source.

Eleanor sat in the landing, hunched over and trembling. Her eyes were glazed as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. It was not an uncommon reaction to a person's first encounter with an Unforgivable – if they lived. Severus had been no different years ago, however he had been far more prepared.

Tiny cuts marred Ella's hands, now stained with a thin smearing of blood, and small bits of glass were still stuck in her arm and leg, glittering maliciously in the lowlight. Her cheek was bright red and swollen, the starting of a good bruise. Worry slithered its way into his chest, but his frustration quickly snuffed it out.

"Stupid girl," he hissed, "_why_, in Merlin's name, were you down there?"

Slowly, her gold eyes shifted to him, yet her lips remained silent. Her trembling frame and puffy cheek were pitiable, striking against his anger with a decidedly sour note of sympathy. Snape was no stranger to the cruciatus curse, and though the years had hardened him to it, the magic still bore a potency that struck him mercilessly each time it dug into his skin. He cursed himself for letting go the matter because of her pathetic appearance, but it was clear she had learned her lesson and the damage had already been done. Consequences would unfold whether he liked it or not, and he did not want to leave her bleeding for Wormtail to discover.

"Get up," he snapped quietly, walking past her as if she were simply a troublesome bump in the rug. "Do as I say if you want any relief from what you are feeling."

With great difficulty, Eleanor rose to her feet, wavering like a weed caught in a gale. Her eyes never removed themselves from him. She followed him mechanically to the safety and privacy of his room, where the door was promptly shut, locked, and charmed against the last remaining danger (if Wormtail could be called such) in the house. Where to begin was a near impossible decision weighing on Severus's mind. There was no telling the dangers of both Bellatrix's and Wormtail's knowledge of Eleanor. Bella would know better than to "kiss and tell", knowing it would expose the rather taboo nature of her visit. Somehow Bella managed to retain her protective nature for her sister despite shedding her humanity long ago. Stubborn loyalty often flowed through pureblood families. Narcissa was too scared to say a word, and with her husband locked away in Azkaban, she was far too vulnerable to wager an accusation. Sooner or later, though, word would slip and he was in for a world of hurt. Eleanor would be facing a potentially worse situation.

There was no denying the tension in the room as Snape stared down at Ella, willing his growing concern for the young woman to leave his thoughts. Seeing the shaking of her legs, he slid his chair over to her.

"If you're going to be the death of me, I might as well make sure you stick around to see to it," he said before starting his search for a set of medicinal potions he kept in his bathroom cabinet.

Contained safely within a scratched and broken box, Severus found his collection of tiny medicinal bottles and tins. They rattled and clinked as he drew them close, scanning the stoppers and label on each one to mentally select the ones he needed. They were not dusty in the least bit, gaining more use as the Dark Lord grew bolder and his strength returned. A large glass of that elf-made wine would have done her some good too, but most of that was Vanished or soaked up in Ella's hair.

When he returned, Snape found Eleanor sitting in the chair struggling to bring herself to remove a bit of glass from her leg. He knelt down in front of her inspecting the wound as he arranged the small tins and bottles neatly. Snape handed her a clear bottle filled with a purple liquid.

"I assume you know what this is," he said as she uncorked it. The strong astringent emitted a bitter odor that brought many unpleasant memories to mind. Eleanor slowly dabbed the potion on her hands and arms, which emitted little puffs of smoke as it made contact with the small cuts eliciting a small hiss of pain through her clenched teeth. When she turned her attention back to the offending piece of glass she had been fiddling with, her fingers began to quiver far more. They clumsily tugged on the glass and her cheeks became ashen as she fought the urge to be sick.

"Could you-…?" Her voice, little more than moving her lips, resounded with pain.

Ella's eyes darted from him to her leg, her trembling fingers pressing down around the still bleeding wound. The jagged piece of glass stuck out haphazardly in her skin, stained pink and glinting in the lamplight. Snape knew removing it with a simple extracting spell would hurt far worse, and possibly inflict more damage, than if he merely plucked it with his bare hands, as ghastly as that sounded. Snape pressed a hand beside the gash to keep the surrounding skin firm, surprised by the warmth and smoothness of her skin, and slowly pulled the small bit of glass free. Biting her lip, a small gasp of pain slipped from her, and again when the antiseptic potion was applied.

Snape handed her a small tin filled with the remains of a salve he frequently used and fetched a cool washcloth for her swollen cheek, mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. As Ella smeared the salve onto her hands, Snape performed a quick _tergeo_ to remove the dried blood from her skin and the wine from her hair and the floor where it had dripped into a small puddle beneath her. He moved methodically, trying not to dwell on what he was doing while he worked through the same routine he used on himself. Eyeing her quivering hands smeared with the thick paste, he gingerly pressed the washcloth to her face. This simple action took her by surprise, her golden eyes round and wide as they watched him.

The situation had become nauseatingly complicated. Had Bellatrix not joined her sister's visit, Snape never would have needed to make that Vow. Dumbledore's fate was set in stone and his final request made, and Snape was truly feeling the pressure of it now. The lines of the new Vow burned in his skin still, a nagging reminder that the clock was ticking. He needed to report to Dumbledore what had happened, especially Ella's stupidity that nearly got her killed. Three people now knew of her, the most concerning was Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's pet. She would find a way to plant mistrust in the Dark Lord's mind any chance she got, and this was a dangerous notion in her favor.

Why Severus was being so considerate to the source of his probable doom was not clear to him. He was still struggling to understand the panic he had felt upon catching sight of a red muzzle and ear peaking out from his kitchen and witnessing the ensuing disaster Bellatrix had unleashed. It was very real terror that made staying calm more difficult that he was accustomed to. The same feeling he had experienced when Lily was put in peril, bringing his hands to tremble and breath to quicken. How easy it would have been to feign surprise and allow Bellatrix to dispatch Eleanor, effectively snuffing out any further complications and tying up loose ends.

"Emmeline," Ella said softly, her voice hoarse and shaking. "She's… Did you really…?"

He looked her in the eye and replied without hesitation, "Yes."

Snape watched the hope ebb from her eyes. Her shoulders slumped over miserably, crumbling her willowy figure as she soaked in the realization that he was not playing the hero. He was glad to tell her. Relieved. Ella needed to know that he wasn't playing for anyone else, living at least, and there was a very real danger in knowing him. There was a very real danger that her life would already be over if he had not stepped in. Regret bothered him far less than it should, at least in this regard. Tearing his gaze away, Snape went to search in his nightstand drawer, unwilling to watch her disappointment any longer. His fingers ran over dozens of tiny bottles all rolling around in the drawer amid a stack of ripped parchment, a spare quill with a broken tip, and a moldy jar of valerian leaves.

"There may come a time when the same might happen to you." He could feel her gaze on his back as he spoke like hot coals pressed to his bare skin. "Those in the Order understand the slippery slope they are on. You happen to be in far deeper than all of them, especially after today. You need to be aware of how fleeting your safety is from now on."

At last, he found what he had been searching for: a miniature bottle half the size of his ring finger and filled with a turquoise liquid. It was a potent sleeping brew, one of his own creations, which combined several soothing mixtures without many side effects. Though he seldom liked to use potions such as these on himself, in his line of duty he occasionally felt the need override the risks. This particular concoction was a combination of a very strong dreamless sleep potion, an anti-anxiety brew, and a minor anesthetic. A perfect escape for a good night's rest. A drop, about the amount that was left by tipping the vial over his fingertip, was enough to put him out and ease the horrors that gripped him for a few hours. It left him rather vulnerable, though, and its addictive tendencies was enough to keep him off of it, leaving the little vial left unused unless he really felt the need for it.

Judging by the looks of her and her history of sleepless nights, Snape could tell Ella could use it. After his comment, she had paled several shades more and her hands began to shake more violently. Practically on the verge of hysteria, Ella clutched at the chair stiffly for support but yielded instantly at his touch. He pressed the small bottle into her hand, the buzz of lingering dark magic still tangible on her skin, "Here."

Ella looked down at it questioningly, letting the still-damp washcloth fall from her cheek onto her lap. Her fingers traced the lip of the bottle, tugging at the cork inquisitively.

"It will help you sleep later," Snape added as he turned to shut the drawer, rattling its contents as he did so. "All you need is a drop's worth-"

Snape whipped around at the sound of a loud thud. Eleanor had collapsed sideways out of the wooden chair and onto the floor. The little bottle in her fingers was drained completely. The stupid girl hadn't even let him finish before downing a foreign potion in one go. She was normally more careful than that, especially after the mishap with the Moody imposter. With proper use, the potion would start to make Snape feel drowsy within an hour giving him plenty of time to curl up and get comfortable. Obviously, the amount Eleanor had just ingested was enough to put her out in seconds, and send her head on a quick trip to the floor. Snape let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand through his hair and muttered, "_Mobilicorpus_."

Eleanor was lifted from the floor and less than gently deposited onto Severus's bed, as he was unwilling to float an unconscious witch through the hallway with Wormtail about. The afternoon was slipping away from him; Snape needed to make a report to Dumbledore while the conversation with Narcissa and Bellatrix was still fresh. In his pocket, the sickle charmed to connect him with the Order began to warm and hum. He inspected the surface as a number appeared: 7. They would meet in a few hours; he would have to make his visit with Dumbledore quick.

Stealing a glance at Eleanor, he attempted to reassure himself that she was alive despite her stillness or the idiotic amount of potion she had ingested. It was unwise to leave her alone without knowing the effects of such a dose, yet he did not have much choice. Most likely, she would still be fast asleep upon his return. He took her wrist and fumbled for a pulse. It was there, albeit slow, and he felt it was enough to diminish his discomfort.

Snape locked his room up tight and passed Wormtail lounging on the couch, stretched out as far as his short limbs could go. Seeing Snape, he jumped from the cushions and tried to appear busy. Snape merely sneered in his direction and left without a word.

* * *

><p>After their meeting, Albus had joined Severus at the Order meeting within Grimmauld Place. What the old wizard had been searching for went unanswered, as he quickly turned the topic to the one concerning the alarming disappearances of wandmakers in the area. Voldemort seemed to be collecting them, but even Severus did not yet know his reasons for doing so.<p>

Albus found the matter of Mrs. Jones, Wormtail, Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange amusing. _Amusing_, Snape grimaced, _that we are dancing on the precipice of Voldemort's favor_. He had hoped to drill a little regret into the old wizard for forcibly shoving the witch on his doorstep, but Albus had chuckled as Snape explained and found the bit about Mrs. Jones the most entertaining. Although there had been a flash in his eyes, just for a moment, where they appeared hard and calculating that led Snape to believe that perhaps he was angry and had yet to show it. Severus had been fuming when they parted a short while before, and even now annoyance simmered hotly in his chest at the old wizard sitting at the head of the table, calmly directing the conversation through the agenda.

"He wants to keep us unarmed and harmless," Moody grumbled, leaning heavily on his staff. "Wizards without wands… Nothing but a flock of sheep waiting for slaughter."

Both his good eye and his magical one fixed upon Dumbledore as he spoke. But, Dumbledore retained his cheerful and calm demeanor, as he had through all of the comments on his blackened hand. He had played it off as a minor injury due to his age and growing clumsiness, but it didn't seem to fool the Order members. Yet, they said nothing of it afterwards. In their eyes, Dumbledore's word was infallible. They clung to every bit like bees to honey. They had no idea of the deception he was capable of crafting, the intentional corruption of those he sought to charm. Any respect Severus had for him was closely guarded by a forbidding helplessness.

Snape was, however, pleased to see his countercurses and containments were still in place, working well. Albus was alive and showed no sign of weakness, being in good enough spirits to make light of the position he was in.

"Harry has been sent to the Burrow without incident," Albus said calmly. "We can rest a little easier now."

"And he's doing well," Arthur Weasley cut in.

Snape felt Lupin's gaze upon him once again. He chose not to acknowledge it this time, keeping his eyes forward. No doubt he was curious as to why Eleanor was absent, just as the others had been. Lupin had better things to worry about, like the look he was getting from Nymphadora Tonks just across the table. Somehow she had managed to make herself drabber than the last meeting, perhaps by washing out the mousy brown locks she sported by wearing an all-brown outfit. Overall, she seemed to disappear into the wallpaper and wood, except for the horrible glare.

"Judging by the safety material they have been mailing out at the office," Arthur Weasley said. "We can be sure people are starting to take notice. But they don't know how deep it runs. Just the other day, several people in the Improper Use of Magic department got sacked without warning. Word is they were all Muggle-born, but everything's still hushed."

"The Auror office too," Tonks chimed in, perking up only slightly. "Lesley Parks was sacked. She was Muggle-born, and bloody brilliant with a wand. Had to leave without rhyme or reason."

"We need to be prepared," Moody said sharply. "For when the air-headed politicians all turn on us. We'll see the return of Maeve's Meadow or the Week's Siege without a doubt."

The mention of Maeve's Meadow made everyone at the table shift uneasily. A town marked with tragedy from the First Wizarding War after decades of idyllic coexistence, when dozens of witches, wizards, and muggles all perished in a dreadful nighttime ambush highlighted by excessive use of disemboweling curses. The name still bore a sharp pang of guilt when Severus heard it. He had not been a part of it. It occurred just after he graduated from Hogwarts, and really opened his eyes to what he had gotten himself into. The slaughter of children was never something anyone could properly prepare for.

"Keeping the dementor population down, and remaining vigilant are our goals for the time being," Albus said, breaking the tense silence. "Let us hope that an end will come swiftly before we see a return of such tragedies. We are, fortunately, better prepared this time."

The rest of the meeting dragged on, moving through minute details of the auror staff at Hogwarts for the coming year, the advance guard who would be at the ready at all times for Potter's protection, and the potential for protection missions. Snape focused on regaining a sense of inner calm, replacing all of the mental blocks he had removed for his meeting with Dumbledore and repairing the distraction of recent events. He took in deep, silent breaths, even after Tonks knocked over her glass and sent lukewarm soda everywhere. He actively relaxed the muscles in his arms and hands trying to ignore the conversation as it swung away from anything he would be involved with. His head began to ache with his increased self-awareness and fatigue began to snatch away his attention. He needed to rest. He had gone too many days with only a few hours of sleep.

Snape was all too eager to jump to his feet at the conclusion of the meeting. Arthur Weasley was prattling on to Tonks about an invitation to tea extended by his wife. Unfortunately, the two of them were completely blocking the hall. Moody had been smart, edging to the door before the talking had even ended. Now, he was long gone.

Severus seized the opportunity to squeeze past when Arthur moved slightly to the side. An awkward moment later and Severus was home free, at least it seemed. An angry looking Lupin shouldered him into the wall before he could make it the rest of the way out.

"Everyone has noticed someone is missing," Lupin said crossly.

Snape feigned boredom, "Emmeline has been gone for a while."

"Not her," Lupin snapped sharply, quickly reminding Snape that the rest of the group was still actively mourning the witch.

"We are not attached at the hip, Lupin. I am her colleague, not her keeper," Snape said harshly.

"You are her partner in the Order. You're supposed to keep track, and you _know_ where she is."

"A lesson from the star partner in the Order," Snape chided. "Kept yours safe, didn't you?"

Lupin bared his teeth and hissed angrily, easily bothered giving Severus the idea that the moon phase must have been full recently. His trust in Snape was visibly diminishing with each meeting, so it came as no surprise that his patience was unhinging. Emmeline's disappearance and subsequent death had shaken many of the members, including Lupin.

But Severus did not have the will to continue the silly standoff though his tongue ached to agitate the swiftly souring Lupin into an embarrassing fit of anger.

"You may voice your complaints to Dumbledore," Snape said. "I have more important matters to occupy my time than babysitting a quidditch dropout."

He glared as he shoved Lupin out of his way and left the house with satisfaction.

* * *

><p>The hour was late when Snape returned home at last. His body ached for sleep, having gone so long on meager rest and endured the whirlwind of events that had passed within the day. Wormtail had gone to bed, leaving the sitting room empty and a low fire threatening to put itself out in the hearth. There had been a distinct and unseasonal chill in the air, warranting the added warmth.<p>

His eyes burned and his head throbbed, every bit of him calling for sleep. Snape trudged up the stairs with heavy lidded eyes. Eleanor's door was closed, like Wormtail's, and Snape thought nothing of it. He didn't bother switching on the lights or waiting for his eyes to adjust, and immediately stripped off his shoes and coat in the dark by memory.

Tugging at the covers, he didn't think twice about their stubbornness to roll down to let him in. Snape slid into sheets and was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.

* * *

><p>Hours passed before Snape was jolted awake by a fear that fled the instant he woke. His hand had reached out and grabbed what he had thought was his pillow, a habitual effort to ground him until his senses returned. Instead, his fingers were wrapped around something soft and warm and somewhat bony.<p>

Despite being nearly face down on his pillow, Snape's eyes flew open in alarm. It was still dark outside, but the first tendrils of sunrise were beginning to paint the sky a delicate shade of indigo. Enough light for Snape to make out the silhouette beside him in bed. He had completely forgotten about leaving her in his room. Unease sank deeper into him like ice water before dissolving at the realization she would probably be out cold for several more hours at the least, saving him the embarrassment of trying to rectify the situation.

Though his first reaction was to release her hand in disgust, Snape's fingers remained locked in place. His eyes strained for details that were still masked in the dim light as his heartbeat grew faster and louder in his ears. A strange feeling gripped him as his hand absorbed the warmth of her wrist. He had always been alone, most especially at night, and while he found most forms of physical contact uncomfortable he had always wondered about the allure felt by others. Lily's hugs had been his only taste of positive contact, and they had long since gone away, replaced by the Dark Lord's bony fingers steering him down a dark path or the impersonal embrace of a curse.

Snape had held Eleanor's hand before on a need basis only, and while it was a bit exhilarating and strange, it was not like this. His thumb grazed the thin, delicate skin of her inner wrist, feeling the flesh give under the lightest of pressure. Perplexed by the complexity of the moment's emotion, Severus could not help but marvel at the familiarity of the foreign sensation. He had seen Eleanor for a couple years now on a regular basis, memorized her mannerisms and the way she moved – usually to reduce the burden on himself of dealing with her. But actually touching her – in this way, at least - was unfamiliar territory, yet he felt completely at ease.

Perhaps he was still asleep.

The light grew a bit brighter, turning the sky into a rich blue, illuminating the room just enough with a grayish light for Snape to make out Eleanor's figure a bit better. Her lips were parted and her jaw relaxed in a way he had seen her sleep before. Her cheek was still puffy and discoloured, noticeable even in the low light. Strands of red hair snaked over her injured cheek and spilled onto the white sheets like dark rivers. He let the back of his hand brush against a silky strand. He could still smell the scent of wine on her.

As a teenager Severus had tried to imagine what it would be like to lay next to someone at night, though at that time his mind would picture Lily. She had been the only proof that friendship existed and love, without the dysfunction he witnessed on a regular basis, was possible. But in this moment, for once, his mind did not wander too deeply back to his childhood crush. Eleanor remained Eleanor, even with her golden eyes shut. Nosy, persistent, rash Eleanor.

The way she slept with her mouth open was rather endearing, as long as she didn't drool and thankfully there was no hint of her doing so. She hadn't been so calm when she recovered from the botched sleeping draught Barty Crouch Jr. had made. Or on a regular basis, for that matter. Usually at this time of night he could hear her tossing and turning, violently tangling and kicking her sheets. The potion was doing a good job of keeping her deeply asleep, blocking the nightmares she usually suffered from. If she could learn to listen, Snape considered making a batch for her to use if she needed it.

The floorboards in the hall creaked and moaned as Wormtail wandered to the bathroom. Severus tightened his grip on Ella's arm, eyes locked on the door. The sounds of the sink running came and went, and at last the floor was quiet again.

Snape knew he should, and normally would, get rid of the girl or put himself to bed in her room. For whatever reason, most likely his deep exhaustion, Severus did not move. His dark eyes studied Ella carefully, with a boldness he wouldn't dare if she were awake, as the light outside was gradually growing into a reddish glow. Unnamable emotions made Severus uncomfortable, he preferred the rationality of perfectly definable ones. But at that moment, he had a lightness in his chest he could not identify the reasoning behind. Rational thought seemed to be taking an unwelcome break, he realized as his fingers slowly uncurled from Ella's wrist to seize an opportunity he never figured he would get again.

Severus let his fingers trail from her jaw to the curve of Ella's neck, barely grazing the surface, fearful of what his touch might do. His hand settled against her collarbone, fingers pressing into the warmth he found there with a newfound boldness. Her heartbeat pulsed evenly beneath his hand. It was a very perplexing source of comfort once he reminded himself she would not wake.

His eyelids began to grow heavy as his body relaxed, finding a common rhythm with Ella's slow, deep breaths. What he was doing was stupid, he thought to himself, utterly ridiculous. But he could not deny he had always been curious. He had longed for something more intimate than standing beside Lily when they were young. He lost that chance when he grew closer to his Slytherin classmates, though Lily had not known his real intention of befriending them. She was his only friend, his _best_ friend, and he wanted to protect her, especially from people like Malfoy, the Blacks, Mulciber, Avery, and Lestrange. His pureblooded house mates were merely connections to a brighter, more secure position in society, one that would overlook his abusive muggle father and tainted familial line. They didn't approve of his "mudblood" friend and forced him to limit the time they had together, or else risk being labeled a blood traitor and every opportunity they gave him would have vanished. She took the distance as an affront to their friendship, and in turn spoke to him less often and drifted closer to her roommates, and the Maurauders. If he had known how short their friendship was he never would have given up all the chances he had to study alone with her, walk her to class, or meet her in Hogsmeade. Regret was bitter in his mouth.

Still, his connections – something Severus was not able to properly label as "friendship"– with his Slytherin classmates had given him many things to be grateful for. Lucius particularly, having invited him to dinner and events that were frequented by wealthy and powerful wizarding families that Snape could never have gotten close to otherwise. Lucius had been his good word with the Dark Lord.

Ella's interruption earlier could have cost Severus his good graces with the Malfoys, though Lucius hardly had any credit to his name left at this point. The Dark Lord had cast him aside like a used rag the instant he failed to return with the prophecy. The same could happen to Severus, or worse, the moment any doubt was cast into the Dark Lord's mind. He had been toeing the line all these years, it was only a matter of time until he lost his balance. He had no doubts that the very thing that would throw him over the edge was the creature sleeping across from him. She tangled everything up so quickly. How easy it would have been to leave her to bleed to death in that bathroom his first year teaching, or to leave her in a permanent nightmare after Crouch's botched draught. The mayhem earlier would have been completely avoided, and he would have nothing to hide.

Snape could not deny he had been frightened, albeit briefly, when he saw several killing curses come very near to hitting Ella. She could have been snuffed out in an instant, though his problems would have remained. Doubt would be cast, even without her around, and Severus's situation would still be nauseatingly complicated. But in the pit of his stomach, Snape was ill at ease imagining Eleanor suddenly gone. As irritating as she was, her presence was welcomer than others. She had been stubbornly keen on keeping watch over him for a while now, even going so far as making an unbreakable vow despite knowing he was an active death eater. She knew his hands were not clean, yet still she cared about him.

This idea perplexed Severus to no end. Aside from the bizarre notion that any member of the female variety could find anything redeeming about himself, this behavior struck him odd. Lily had drifted away the more she learned about what he was getting into, and Ella was doing the complete opposite.

The warmth running through his fingers was soothing and made his eyes grow heavy despite the growing morning light. It was strange to still be in bed to him, as he was nearly always up at sunrise. He wasn't one to lounge about or sleep deeply. The reddish sunlight lit the edges of Eleanor's hair, turning them into living embers. Severus studied her face; the shape of her eyes and her long lashes, the pattern of freckles that began at her nose and spread over her cheeks, and the curve of her parted lips. It was a pretty face, he thought, even if her smile was a bit crooked and her cheek was currently swollen. Struggling to stare at Ella's face a little longer, his eyes finally refused to remain open. Her heartbeat throbbed reassuringly beneath his fingers and he drifted off to sleep with fragmented memories trailing from his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Ella did not dream, and if she did there was no recollection of them. She did not remember a few days passing by except for a couple short glimpses, which perhaps could have been a dream as hazy as they were. It was a strange, dark numbness permeated with a continual feeling of dread.<p>

Ella woke once in the night in an unfamiliar bed. Her eyes were slow to focus and adjust to the dim moonlight streaming into the room. Pain made itself apparent quickly and her body was stiff and heavy. As she gazed around, Ella found something large beside her in bed. Soft, rhythmic breathing broke the silence, along with the gentle creaking and settling of the house. The thing beside her was not very large, simply very close. Barely able to turn her head, Ella studied her companion more closely as a little feeling returned to her limbs.

A head of dark hair rested very close to hers, and a gentle weight became more apparent on her chest. Still too numb to fully express the surprise and confusion building in her mind, Ella lay very still – though she didn't have much of a choice in the matter – and watched him sleep.

His face was relaxed, but a stubborn wrinkle in his forehead from too many years of deep thinking and stress remained between his dark eyebrows. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen him look so peaceful. His hand was fastened tightly to the front of her shirt and rested on her chest with a comfortable weight. Something about his presence calmed her, and not long afterwards her eyelids refused to stay open. Her fingers struggled up to touch his hand, just to see if it was real, as she drifted off to sleep once more.

Ella was jostled out of the darkness by a sudden moment of terror, though the actual thought responsible had fled the same instant. She clutched the sheets as her eyes struggled to focus. The room was lit by lamplight, and nearby was a blurry dark figure at a blurrier desk. He gave a start at her reaction and rose from his chair. Ella felt her whole body tremble and couldn't figure out if the bed was moving or she was shaking.

He stood over her – but his face was far too hazy for her to make out any expression – as she felt something touch her hand. Eyelids fluttering, she fought to stay awake as the numb feeling grew all over. Then, darkness once more.

When she woke the last time, she was alone with weak limbs and crippling fear. Ella could not tell if the fleeting memories were really memories, or simply dreams. Anxiously, she struggled to rise and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling a rush of terror upon laying eyes on the stairwell and her nearly healed, but still raw hands. The only memory that returned was Bellatrix Lestrange launching a curse at her, the sound and feeling of crunching glass, and the smell of red wine.

* * *

><p>AN: Dear guest reviewer (and all readers), I'm sorry for making you wait so long! I've been agonizing over the tangle of plot and scenes for far too long! ;)


	53. Don't Mess with Florence Jones

Eleanor was still just as spooked days after the incident in the kitchen as she had been immediately following the fight. She sat about the house, never far from Severus, with a vacant stare and trembling hands as her eyes constantly watched for Wormtail. When she awoke from her potion-induced slumber, she had seemed to be trapped in a fearful haze that kept her stumbling about and forming comically short sentences until the effects at last gave up their hold. Despite saying she was feeling much better and rested Ella was a mess. Her face was still bruised and her hands and arms covered in dark, small scabs, and the experience had left her skittish and melancholic. Small noises prompted her to jump in alarm, even the quiet snap of Severus folding a newspaper he had finished.

Snape was grateful for the delay in her waking, having woken up in bed beside her after the first night with his hand clutching the front of her shirt and his head pressed against the soft part of her shoulder, lips brushing her skin. He flew out of bed in alarm and splashed his face with cold water for half an hour before going about his day, dreadfully disturbed by what he had done. He had slept in remarkably late and earned a suspicious look from Wormtail when he appeared downstairs. The lingering scent of wine and the warm, yet indescribably sweet smell of her skin lingered with him. It set his teeth on edge.

Now, after a harrowing few days of outings with a small group of Death Eaters and coming home to Wormtail's eerily chipper self, Snape was itching for a change of scenery. He suspected a bit of fresh air would do Ella some good as well. The lingering effects of the curses made her much more docile than usual, stunned to say the least. While Snape knew it was a very common response, he knew she wouldn't snap out of it if she kept dwelling on the encounter, and he knew she was.

So far, neither Wormtail nor Bellatrix had revealed the redhead to the Dark Lord. It was a blessed relief for him, knowing they had good reasons to keep their mouths shut. How long the stalemate would last was anyone's guess, though Severus suspected it wouldn't last much longer. He hadn't worked out a lie flawless enough to protect them both.

He found her sitting on the narrow bed in his old room, staring at the wall across from her with her knees held loosely in her arms. It was the same spot she had been in when he checked on her the day before. Ella didn't turn her head to acknowledge him, her fingers twined around a loose bit of thread poking out from the edge of a wrinkled sheet in slow, twitching circles.

"I am going to Diagon Alley for some errands," he began quietly, making a great effort to sound as pleasant as he could force himself to be. "Would you like to accompany me?"

Her eyes darted over to him after a moment and slowly she seemed to break her terrified trance. "Sure."

He hardly thought she would deny the chance to follow him about, but a small part of him worried that she would say no. Perhaps, he figured, she was not so broken as she seemed.

Wormtail was out gathering intelligence for Voldemort – or rather crawling about every nook and cranny of wizarding Britain's darkest, dingiest alleys in search of something trivial - and left early that morning in a huff leaving behind blissful silence while Snape read the morning paper. He felt a strange obligation to try and lighten Ella's mood, and tried to reason the notion spawned from an unwanted anxiousness that permeated through the walls and leaked into his skin that _might_ affect his focus and muddle his planning.

Severus mentioned to Ella she did not need to shift as she peeked into the sitting room where he waited. Slowly, she made her way to the sofa, sliding down onto the overstuffed cushions stiffly not unlike the way Neville Longbottom would slip into the rickety chair each day for class. Snape dog-eared a page to review later in his book with one fluid sweep of his thumb and prepared to leave when Ella spoke, very quietly at first, "I'm… sorry. For the other day."

"You have already apologized."

"I know," she said, eyes trailing on the floor beneath their long lashes. "But I don't feel like I can say it enough. I know I messed up and… and I know I put you in danger. I should have been more careful."

Snape adjusted the buttons on his coat, eyeing her carefully.

"I was just… concerned about the… about you making the… agreeing to…" Her voice failed her as she stumbled through her thoughts and her cheeks flushed deeply in embarrassment. Her nails caught against the edge of the cushions and tapped a stumbling staccato.

"I am not a child, Eleanor. I can make decisions on my own," he said firmly. Then, upon seeing her crestfallen expression, grudgingly offered in a stiff voice, "I appreciate your concern."

The rain outside was still falling steadily as it had the past few days and the summer day was unusually chilly. Eleanor clasped a short traveling cloak about her shoulders as Snape cast a rain-repelling charm upon himself. Peeking outside, Snape did not see anyone wandering about, all of the windows on the street were blocked by tightly drawn curtains. He opened the door and prepared for the dash to the alleyway where they would apparate. Ella was close behind, practically clinging to his coat, and was just as oblivious to the person walking up beside them as Severus.

"Mr. Snape?"

Snape froze in horror as he heard his neighbor's voice and the growling of her little white dog. Mrs. Jones clutched a worn pink leash in her neatly manicured hand and a frilly umbrella in the other. Judging by the astonished look on her face, Florence was studying Ella's bruises – which Ella had attempted to cover up that morning without much improvement – and jumping to a very bad conclusion.

"Isn't this your…? _My goodness_," Mrs. Jones gasped.

"I'm afraid we're in a rush," Snape said quickly, snatching Ella by the arm.

The frilly umbrella smacked him on the shoulder, sending a spray of water everywhere. "Don't think I don't know what's going on here! You take your hands off her!"

Snape braced himself for yet another smack from the surprisingly heavy umbrella and let go of Ella's arm as the old woman tugged her away with enough force to send the charms on her bracelet rattling in a loud, angry chorus. She greatly resembled Umbridge when she was all puffed up in her purple slicker and glared crossly, all hair and lipstick and sickly perfume.

"It's okay, dear. Did he do this to you?" she said, digging her pink fingernails into Ella's arm. "You can tell me, dearie."

"What? No!" Ella exclaimed, horrified by the rather sharp blow of the old woman's umbrella yet again as Snape attempted to step away. "I just…I… I fell."

That earned another smack for Severus.

"He didn't do anything! Really, it was my fault!"

Snape winced, hearing Eleanor dig him a deeper grave with each well-intended excuse. The umbrella came down when he tried to move away, sending a shower of foul-tasting mist onto his face.

'Trying to hide the evidence!" Florence screeched at Snape. "Denying she exists! Look what you did to this poor thing. Why, you're no better than your father! I'll have Harold put in a call right away. Don't worry, dear, you don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying! He didn't hurt me!" Ella leapt in front of the umbrella before Florence could send it smashing into Snape's shoulder once more.

"I should have known after that commotion the other day! I told my Harold, I told him they must be having the row of the century with all that racket!"

Snape glared defensively at the old woman, anger sour in his mouth. Nothing was worse than being compared to his father. Not even the annoying rat dog nipping at his heels, straining on its ridiculous leash while his owner assaulted Snape yet again with her damp weapon. His fingers closed tightly around his wand.

"Florence?" called an elderly man peering out the door nearby through extremely thick glasses. "What're you going on about out there? The timer's gone off on your shortbread!"

"Get the phone, Harold!" Florence tugged Ella out of her way like a ragdoll and smacked Snape one more time, her large earrings jingling from the force of the blow. The dog barked wildly and her husband called again from behind their unremarkable door. Snape raised his wand and stunned the woman in a flash, applying a minor memory charm that left her vacant eyed and drooling slightly. If there were any lasting damage left from it, he wouldn't have minded nor spared a bit of pity or regret.

"Let's go," hissed Snape as he wrenched a surprised Ella from the woman's slackened grip and pulled her behind him to the alley.

"Is she-?"

"She's fine."

"Are you-?"

"I'm fine."

Truthfully, his neck and shoulder were on fire and he was very, very damp. That old woman packed a punch, he reasoned as he tucked his wand away. Feeling a flush of embarrassment warm his cheeks, Snape took a deep breath, ready to be gone from the dismal village huddling beneath the cloud of dank and choking rain.

"Hold tight," he said quietly, offering his arm.

Eleanor was still stunned by the event – although the corners of her lips were twitching upwards ever so slightly, as though she were desperately fighting back the urge to laugh - and clung to him with both hands, stepping over a rather deep, murky puddle carefully beforehand. The ground lurched away from them and swirled into a gray smear before they landed with a quiet pop at the north edge of Diagon Alley, just behind the lopsided brick wall separating them from the Leaky Cauldron. Ella immediately released his arm as a group of people moved past all tugging hoods over their noses.

"I will meet you back here in two hours," Snape said quietly, adjusting the buttons on his sleeve and walking away before she could answer.

Ella stood alone, staring down a very different Diagon Alley. The sparkling displays and dazzling colours had been covered up by large, copy-heavy posters instructing the public on safety precautions "in this troubling time", and small, rickety stalls crowding the storefronts, filled with cheap looking trinkets, blocked the tightly shut shop doors. A small, wizened old man with a garish face croaked about amulets to Ella as she walked past quickly. His grizzled fingers reached out for her cloak, nearly taking hold before she sprinted away.

It was drizzling here, not the steady rain falling on the dingy street she and Snape had escaped from, but enough to steer most of the dwindling crowd indoors. She pulled her hood up hiding the purplish green bruise that blossomed over her cheek she caught a woman staring at from behind a large stand of shiny "anti-werewolf charms". A familiar face glared down from the wall of the apothecary beside her, a poster bearing the name Bellatrix Lestrange and a very large warning – as if her ghastly appearance even needed explanation. Fear struck her like ice, her chest filling with a smothering panic. The poster's eyes seemed to be fixed on her as the wild-haired woman laughed mockingly. Images flashed in her mind; a flash of light, broken glass, a pool of red, red wine, the glint of a blade as it cut through the air.

"Elly?" called a sweet sounding voice, in sharp contrast to the crazed woman on the poster Ella was still transfixed by. "Elly, is that you?"

It was Daisy huddled under a dark blue cloak, clutching a large basket half full of books, tea canisters, and Kneazle food. She grinned widely, the same dimples puckering her cheeks as her younger self. "It is you! What happened?"

Eleanor blushed, "I uh… just a bit of an accident. Long story, really. It's nice to see you, Daisy."

"And you! Haven't heard from you much lately," she began, stepping closer, "though I can't say I'm surprised. No one's fond of the Post lately. C'mere, I can fix that up for you if you like."

"Really?"

Daisy whipped out her light coloured wand and gave a small swish. A cooling sensation flowed over Eleanor's cheek and the soreness began to ebb away. "How-?"

"When you have as many kids as I do, you learn," Daisy said. She had a motherly look to her, especially in the way she dressed, and Ella felt very childish in comparison and tugged the hem of her shirt down. "Especially with Nathaniel. Morgan's Mane, that boy is a _menace_."

"How old is he now?" Ella could remember getting the birth announcement in the post. Nathaniel was Daisy's fifth child, and another reminder that she had not chosen the track to family life and early motherhood like Daisy, and many other schoolmates, had. Her old roommate had gotten a job with the Ministry right out of school and quickly retired when children entered her world. Ella has been filling her life with quidditch and a couple messy, impetuous relationships at that time, fleeing the responsibility that Daisy had eagerly taken upon marrying the shy Hufflepuff boy that frequented the same coffee shop.

"He's three now, can you believe it?" Daisy's eyes lit up as she shifted her basket to her other arm and nodded to the shop beside them. "They're all in there with Patrick picking out Maddie's new broom. We were just about to pop in Sugarplum's. Want to join us?"

"I don't know," Eleanor wasn't in much of a talking mood, but felt guilty of Daisy's pleading smile. "I suppose I could for a minute or two."

The door to the secondhand brooms store flew open with the sound of a shop bell about to bust apart from the violence of its clattering. A wave of limbs, blonde hair, and screaming nearly flattened Eleanor against the cobblestones.

"Mum! Lookit! Look at the broom! It's so wicked! I bet it's a million times faster than the last one."

"More like a million zillion times!"

"Mummy, who is that?"

"Mum, can we go now? I want some Chocolate Frogs and Ice Mice!"

Daisy gathered them all up in her arms for a quick hug, "This is Eleanor. You remember? My quidditch friend?"

At once all five pairs of eyes lit up excitedly and Ella braced herself for the onslaught of quidditch related questions, as everyone who became aware of her career was wont to unleash. They came with a fury, some more intelligible than others. Nathaniel's were especially tough to decipher. A worn-out, pole thin wizard emerged from the shop at last and parted the kids with a silent, forced smile.

"Miss Bristow," he nodded.

"Patrick, you don't have to be so formal," Daisy whined.

"Mr. Mills," Ella smiled, glad for the silence he had brought. She felt a tug at her cloak and looked down to see very wide green eyes staring back up.

"Were you _really_ the best chaser in the league?" asked a short, blonde girl in a sparkling purple dress. She twirled her fingers in to circles as she rocked back and forth in her mud-crusted boots.

"I don't know about the _best_," Ella smiled at the little girl as she hid her lively hands in her pockets bashfully.

"That's Hagley of Puddlemere, silly," said one of the boys sharply to his sister. "Everyone knows that. She's too _old_."

"Let's be on our way to Sugarplum's," Daisy said in a singsong voice, herding the group with surprising grace towards the candy shop down the way. They all passed by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which stood vacant and dark with dust gathering on the tables and chairs inside. "Pity," Daisy clucked. "I loved the Spearmint Swirl. Hope the man's doing alright."

Quite a few of the shops had closed up, some with minor damage and plastered with caution signs, leaving Diagon Alley less wondrous than it usually was. Sugarplum's, however, was bright and welcoming, with jars of fresh candies displayed in their neatly wiped windows. The kids had bolted for the door before Mr. Mills could catch them, but he was already on their heels as the boys started to sample some of the writhing gummy worms right out of the jars.

The smell of chocolate and warm caramel filled the air and Eleanor felt a bit cheerier just standing in the pink walled shop. A bag of sweets sounded like a good pick-me-up to shake the lasting dread she felt sitting at Spinner's End. She grabbed one of the smaller polka-dotted bags and looked around for something to fill it with as Maddie, the girl with pigtails, popped pink saltwater taffy in her mouth.

"So good!" she exclaimed, though with her mouth full of taffy it sounded more like 'ser gurhnnuh'.

Ella grinned and pulled a few for herself, along with freshly sliced caramel and a small hunk of chocolate. Nathaniel ran past on the hunt for Peppermint Poppers while his brothers dueled loudly with Liquorice Wands, their arms flying dangerously close to a precarious stand full of tiny sugar-spun butterflies. Stepping carefully around them, Ella shoved a couple Chocolate Cauldrons into her bag, along with a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

Mr. Mills snagged a box of Fizzing Whizbees in time for the boys behind him to knock over a large barrel of Licorice Snap. Mr. Sugarplum, in a pastel suit and bright bow tie, came rushing over as the little Snaps began to bite at the heels of the three troublemakers scrambling away in a flurry of yelps. Daisy laughed good-naturedly and helped the older man clean up the mess as Patrick scolded the boys.

"Can you believe Henry will be going to Hogwarts in a year?" Daisy chuckled, clutching a Cauldron Cake. "You're still teaching there, right?"

"Sort of," Ella said as she brought her bag up to the counter, fishing for her coin purse absentmindedly. "I'm still an apprentice, but I do teach a couple of classes and help with the others." Bitterness returned to her throat upon remembering the potions post fell to Slughorn now.

"How exciting! I'm still at that little library I told you about – the one with the rare and unusual books? Still love it to death, although Robert – he's another worker there – has been rather stuffy lately ever since the start of summer. Always seems a bit put out. Always hassles me with my method of stamping and sorting."

Daisy snatched a packet of wine-gums as her kids came running up with bursting bags, all tossing them into a pile before a pleased looking Mr. Sugarplum. Patrick Mills added his candy to the lot, looking as bedraggled as ever as the children tugged and pleaded for their sweets and a trip to the new joke shop.

"I'd better get going," Ella said, not willing to stick around to see the sugar rush take its toll. "Lots of errands. Good to see you."

"Of course," Daisy smiled. "Write sometime! And Elly…be careful."

Something changed in her friend's face, a dark shadow marring the warmth of her smile. It was a knowing look, riddled with fear.

"You too."

Popping a piece of taffy into her mouth, Ella realized she still had some time to wander through Diagon Alley before Snape would finish his errand, whatever it was. She figured she could pop into Madam Malkin's for something to wear to Thomas's wedding later on – the thought was unsettling to say the least – but she didn't feel like dealing with the bony-fingered witch taking uncomfortable measurements at that particular moment, especially in her state.

Ella noticed both Madam Primpernelle's and Mr. Mulpepper's were looking to hire junior brewers, but neither one seemed like a good fit. She would be saddled with brewing pimple vanishers and perfumes, or making questionable concoctions for cranky old wizards coming off Knockturn Alley. She found herself staring down that decrepit street, whose decay seemed to be leaking onto Diagon near the place where Ollivander's once stood proudly. The smell of rotten fruit and neglect was a bit strong, and the look she was getting from an old witch pushing a squeaky cart was less than welcoming. Unconsciously, she had already begun to search for Snape's telltale figure. Somehow she knew that was where he had gone off to, and he blended in well. Her shoes toed the line between the two streets but she stayed put as if stuck behind an invisible barrier.

"Look sharp, Miss," came a kindly voice, a wizard in a faded linen apron with a shock of white hair and a broom in hand. "You're much too lovely to venture down there."

He grinned to her, pushing up his horn rimmed glasses with a short, wrinkled finger. From head to toe he was immaculately dressed from a bygone era, a gentleman with a spark in his eye and an out of place apron.

"Half price sale today," he nodded to his shop front, Obscura Books. The black door was propped open letting in the rain-cooled breeze, and behind it were shelves of dusty, thick, odd shaped books. Layers of old Turkish carpets were piled upon the floor, creating an omnipresent quiet over the whole shop. The shelves seemed to stretch back forever as Ella peeked around them with glee. She let her fingers glide over the spines as she walked past, scanning the sections. The books were not the selection Flourish and Blotts had, nor did they have the quantity. Each book was unique and new to her. A Ravenclaw's personal heaven.

There was a potions section, much to her excitement, and she began pulling and flipping through books sending a cloud of dust into the air. Some were priced far too high, but she peeked at them too. Soon, she had a small stack cradled in her arms before she decided to hop to a new section, unwilling to leave before having the chance to glimpse at them all.

A small section of Dark Arts texts sat behind a thin metal gate bearing a sign: _Restricted. Ask Clerk. _Ella didn't want to bother the old man she left outside, and part of her wasn't ready to delve into that subject. She had to eventually, she knew, to keep up with Severus. Her reluctance to venture down Knockturn Alley was the same, and the shopkeeper was right. She didn't belong down there, good looks or no, and it was extremely obvious. The old shopkeeper had merely sugarcoated the truth with a kindness, and prevented her from making a huge mistake like the other day.

A sharp, metallic taste in her mouth blossomed with the fractured memory: a sinister grin, the flash of tiny ropes of flame winding about two wrists, the chair at the table crashing over, the countertop exploding. Ella clutched her books as though they kept her from falling into the black oblivion that inked through her mind. _The fear_. It was there, growing markedly strong as the memory of green light dashing off the wall behind her, of the little blade held to her throat, the dirty fingers with long, sharp nails curled in her hair all came creeping back. Her throat was suddenly too dry to let her swallow.

The pain she had felt was incredible, still bright in her mind despite the haziness of the days following. She had whole conversations with Severus she couldn't remember – which irritated him to no end – and yet she could distinctly remember the way that cruel magic shot up through each limb like fire let loose in her veins. It occurred to her – when it did, she still wasn't sure – that Severus was no stranger to that magic. In fact, she was sure he had used it before, and been a recipient.

Overhead, a small flock of flying beast books soared overhead towards the Dark Arts section, their pages fluttering loudly as they squeezed past a large volume teetering on the edge of a high shelf that was foaming at the pages and growling slightly. The beasts section was one to avoid, she noted, seeing that the angry book above her was not alone. The whole section seemed to be vibrating, some books were chained to the shelf, struggling to break free. Others were leaking, oozing strange goo, or acting outright ornery. One sneaky little guidebook nearly took a chunk out of her ankle, retreating back under a stool with a snarl.

Ella's eyes found an ancient, crudely lettered sign marking a section bordering the Dark Arts one: Olde Magick. How allegorical, she thought with a smirk, to put those two beside one another. Immediately, she devoured the names sparkling on the spines, stamped into the leather centuries ago on an ancient letterpress, and sought out ones that stuck out to her. Much of it dealt with mother's magic, natural enchantments and the like, but the deeper she went the titles all began to shift to love. A bright yellow marker stuck out from the shelf: _Muggle Author_. Yanking the book free, Ella glanced at the cover. _The Four Loves _by C. S. Lewis. She glanced around and noticed a handful more of the same yellow labels jutting out from between the rest. This category seemed to be the only one allowing the yellow marked books, especially in this quantity (as there were no muggle authors on proper potion making to be had), and part of her was intrigued by the overlap of worlds.

A small red linen spine peeked out from the shelf a ways down that inspired Ella's interest far more than the rest for a reason not plain to her. Her fingers rested on it, feeling its age before she gave it a little tug. The book refused to budge, held in place by far too many books crammed into the crooked, narrow shelves. She yanked again, determined to free the poor thing and see what was inside, but it still refused to budge. Ella set down her stack of books and bag of candies, preparing herself for a full-on, whole-body pull, and just as she set her fingers upon the spine and leaned backwards the little book slipped free as though it neighbors weren't there. Ella crashed into the shelf behind her with a loud thud, barely catching the little book before it could tumble to the ground. Startled, she let out an incredulous snort at the humor of the moment and tried to steady herself.

Looking up, Ella could see the little book had left its imprint on the shelf: a little window that went back farther than the back of the shelf itself. There was no telling what would lie behind it, but for some reason it seemed important despite the greater chance it was nothing more than a crevice of dust and dead bugs. Peering through, she found herself looking through the thin metal gate blocking the section behind into the rows of Dark Arts books. She could see a shoulder sliding into view, a very familiar set of buttons now eye level.

"Spying, are we?"

His voice had a hint of amusement as he slid a book back into its place with a soft _thunk_. Ella was surprised to see his tired face look back at her through the little window, a dark eyebrow arched as he awaited her answer.

"When did you get here?"

"Some time ago," he replied evenly, snatching a small blue book noisily as he did so. "Though I did not feel the need to announce my presence so loudly as you."

Eleanor could see the edges of his lips curl as he looked away, making her own smile secretively. Of all the places to run into Snape, it was behind a book about love and old magic. The symbolism was positively nauseating, like something out of a _Witch Weekly_ article or an Eloise Sweetwater romance novel. Ella rolled her eyes as she shoved a different book into the window and quickly moved to a new section before any of his comments could be heard, narrowly avoiding the snarling _Guide to the Beasts of Borneo_ on her way.

The old shopkeeper had given up trying to sweep the dust from the storefront out into the wet street, now resting contently in a large brocade armchair with a pipe resting gently in his hand, which filled the room with a sweet-smelling smoke. He smiled at Ella when she neared the old cash register, "All done?"

"Afraid so," she grinned back, "I could spend hours in here."

"But you have!" he exclaimed, much to her surprise. She noted that the hands on the ancient clock perched on the wall near her told nearly three hours went by without her notice. Ella had felt she had only just arrived.

The wizened old man rose to his feet, yanking his vest into place, and collected the handful of Galleons and Sickles from Ella with a curt nod. "Ravenclaws get an extra 10% off," he had added, handing back a few coins.

"How did you know I was a Ravenclaw?"

His pale blue eyes darted to her stack of books, "I've been one long enough to discern a fellow 'Bronze and Blue' when I see one."

"With remarkable accuracy," Snape muttered stiffly, appearing behind Ella with a few books of his own, carefully chosen and stacked neatly in his hands.

"The only Slytherin that almost fooled me," the old man grinned. "You would have been a fine Ravenclaw, Mr. Snape."

"So you've told me, Mr. Reeves." Snape handed over several coins as quickly as he could, eager to leave.

Ella tucked away her books in her small bag – fitted with an undetectable extending charm, of course - so the rain wouldn't damage them along with her candy. Snape eyed the noisy plastic bag of sweets with a discerning frown.

"Get enough, did we?"

"It's not that much," Eleanor replied defensively, finally managing to shove the Chocolate Cauldron box through the opening of her bag. "Do you want me to keep those safe for you?"

Snape's fingers curled around his newly purchased books warily, "I can manage."

"Really, I don't mind. It's pouring now." Ella could see him growing uncomfortable, but not angry. Mr. Reeves regarded him with a sly smile.

"You're just hoping to snoop for the titles."

Ella scoffed, "I can see them from here and I can fancy a good guess which section you've been lurking about this whole time. C'mon, let's have them."

Discomfort paled Severus's sallow cheeks and he stiffly deposited his books in Ella's hand, practically shooting fire from his eyes. Ella couldn't help but smile, carefully setting the books down within her bag near her own. It was a small victory. Even after pulling her hood well over her eyes and stepping out into the cold rain, she smiled. As soon as Mr. Reeves had waved them goodbye and shut the squeaking door tightly behind them, Ella could detect the faintest of smiles on Severus's lips too.

Suddenly, for a brief and fleeting moment, Ella felt content and safe. She and Snape made their way up the way in silence, and his presence – rather close for him, his cloak brushing her arm – was reassuring as they passed more of the narrow-eyed vendors dotting the way, all dripping wet and sour-faced as they clutched their cheap wares. It wasn't until they passed a broom shop that the tension woven in her chest snapped tight once again.

"Ella?" someone called as they darted out of the shop, letting the bell on the door ring wildly. "Oi! Ella! It _is_ you!"

The voice terrified her, sending panic shooting down to her toes. _Of all the people to run into_, she thought sourly. Already, her brief run-in with Daisy had been awkward enough as it was. Suddenly, she was seized about the shoulders as Thomas planted a firm kiss on her cheek.

"I can't believe I ran into you!" he said in a voice so bitterly nostalgic and full of cloying sweetness it made her sick. "Haven't heard from you in a while! How've you been?"

She tried to pinch her cheeks into a smile and the resulting gesture was more akin to the smile one gave to an aunt who gave you socks for your birthday. Thomas, however, did not seem phased by the awkward look at all, or how deeply red her cheeks had become as her eyes darted between him and Snape.

"I've been… great. How nice a surprise it is to see you," she stammered. "How have you been?"

"Well, just great, you know? Did you get the, er, the invite?"

Beside her, Ella could feel Snape stiffen. She wondered if he knew who she was talking to, and hoped desperately he didn't.

"I…I did. Thank you."

A long silence passed between them, leaving the sound of the rain noisily beating against the swaying sign of the broom repairman's shop. Thomas, still smiling, seemed to be struggling with what to say.

"I'm, uh, getting the Firebolt tuned up. The crossbar got a little twitchy after practice last week. Thought I might as well have it fixed up while Em's getting her dress fitted or whatever it is she's up to in there." His eyes trailed over his shoulder at the row of lit shop windows with a small shadow of weariness.

"Oh."

Ella bit her lip. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She wanted nothing more than to turn and bolt in the other direction, propriety be damned. She saw his eyes dart about her figure, lingering on her hands as she wrung them nervously.

"Did you fall into a rosebush?"

She let out a forced laugh that ended up far louder than she had intended it to be. Embarrassment filled her cheeks until they burned.

"Ah… no. I just… It's nothing," she tried to smile again, tucking her arms under her cloak.

"Who's this?" Thomas glanced over at Snape, using the same tone he did when he was suspicious of Sean trying to sneak swigs of his beer.

Snape was silent, eyeing Thomas with a look of undisguised contempt.

"Er… Thomas, this is Severus Snape, a colleague of mine at Hogwarts. Severus, this is Thomas Peregrine. He was my… He's… He's seeker for the Caerphilly Catapults."

Thomas eagerly stuck out a hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

Snape remained withdrawn, his hands tucked neatly beneath his traveling cloak. "Same," he hissed coldly.

A muscle in Thomas's cheek twitched as he withdrew his hand, still smiling even after Snape began to walk away wordlessly. Ella kept glancing at his retreating back helplessly.

"What's got his knickers in a wad, eh?" Thomas joked quietly.

"Nothing," Ella snapped, sounding far worse than she intended. Her hands clenched and unclenched nervously.

Thomas's smile disappeared. "Listen, Ella. I've been worried about you. Ever since your flat-…"

"I'm fine. Really. It's just a flat."

"Ever since your last match at the Cup, you haven't been the same."

Ella inhaled sharply, trying not to think about Fran or that harrowing fall that landed her in St. Mungo's for a few days. The way he was looking at her, that piercing worry written so plainly on his handsome face made her want to indulge in sharing what she had been up to, why she had been so…_different_. She opened her mouth to say something as a shrill voice called for Thomas. A young woman with curled blonde hair and an immaculate outfit trotted down the cobblestone lane towards them. Suddenly, it was all too much.

Ella took one last look at Thomas, turned, and ran.

* * *

><p>Merlin, she was perfect. Absolutely <em>sodding<em> perfect.

Ella's fingers curled tightly around her spoon as she stared murderously at her stew. Snape sat across from her, eating in silence as the rain continued to beat against the windows evenly.

Ella's first glimpse of Emily-the-fiancée had been what she had dreaded. Emily looked to be a gorgeous, tall woman with effortlessly glamorous blonde curls, every bit professional and classy and full of grace even as she trotted about in the rain wearing perilously high heels. Even her voice was perfect. Jealousy bloomed bitterly in her chest as she forced herself to take another bite of supper.

The awkwardness of the encounter buzzed in her still. Ella hoped Snape really hadn't made the connection between Thomas and the glimpses of him in their occlumency sessions. But really, she knew Snape was far more observant than that. He had barely said a word to her since they returned. Their books sat expectantly in two separate, neat stacks – one on the small, wobbly table beside his armchair, and the other balancing on the lopsided cushion of the couch – barely glanced at since their return to the house.

She noticed his eyes on her for a moment, dark and glittering in the light of the ill-coloured lamp overhead, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable. There was no telltale tug at her mind to designate he was attempting to mull through her head without asking. He was simply watching, his hand keeping his spoon tightly against the side of his nearly empty bowl. Despite how badly she wanted to look him in the eye, and to be looked at by him, she looked away as embarrassment filled her cheeks.

Snape watched her look towards the wall, studying the cracked paint from under her long lashes. The day had done her good, until that chipper idiot appeared outside the broom shop. _Thomas_, he recalled bitterly. It was the same boy he had seen her with before outside the castle as she left for her "last" game. The same boy who had pervaded her memories for the past several years in all manner of situations: He had laughed victoriously beside her in the _Prophet_ snippets from the quidditch section, and looked at her with a fondness barely disguised; he had had taken her by the hip and led her into a dark part of a stadium and kissed, and held her in the dark room of a small flat without a scrap of clothing on. The last recollection made his stomach churn violently as some strange possessive urge unearthed itself from the back of his carefully guarded mind. Occlumency left little boundaries between them, as much as it bothered him to admit. It was something he had argued with Dumbledore about quite vehemently for both Potter and Eleanor's lessons. It left an uncomfortable sense of intimacy.

As much as it pained him to acknowledge, Severus knew now what with all of the things Eleanor knew, she would need to learn far more advanced tactics to keep his secrets – and hers – protected. He eyed her wrist where the lines of her Vow flowed faintly over her skin. Keeping her mouth shut was far more important for her than he liked to admit. _Damn it, Albus, what have you done?_

If the old wizard had simply let him alone, let her stay with Minerva or Tonks or _anyone_ until term began, none of this would have happened and neither of them would be in the danger they now found themselves perched very near. He still couldn't shake the nagging worry of how deeply Dumbledore was manipulating the both of them, and the rest of the Order for that matter.

With the dishes washed, the two returned to the sitting room and read in an amicable silence for the evening. Severus could barely concentrate on his book, as compelling as it was. He had read the same paragraph a dozen times as his mind buzzed about Dumbledore and the curse that inhabited his arm. The clock was ticking on the headmaster's life, and Severus's tenure at Hogwarts. He had no idea what would happen following Albus's death, and still Severus had no confidence that he would be able to kill him, even if it was the old man's wish. Part of him hoped he would succumb to the curse before it came to that.

The cold realization that this would be the last summer he would be in this house settled on him with a crushing weight. Once the deed was done, Severus would be on the run, all of his contact with the Order – and Eleanor – cut off. He glanced over to where she was reclining on the couch, absent-mindedly gnawing on a chunk of chocolate shaped like a half a cauldron as she read.

Ella seemed to notice his gaze after a while, turning and giving him a crooked smile with a bit of chocolate smudged on her lip. It cut through him like a knife.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you ShadowSSJ, xxyangxx2006, and Georgia! :)


End file.
